


#whathappensinvegas

by sodium_amytal



Category: Better Call Saul (TV), Breaking Bad
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dating, Developing Relationship, Fluff, Humor, Jealous Walt, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-04
Updated: 2015-05-11
Packaged: 2018-03-16 07:37:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 49,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3479807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sodium_amytal/pseuds/sodium_amytal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jesse decides to take his five million dollar payout to Las Vegas, the city of neon glitz, questionable life decisions, and gambling-induced bankruptcy. With Saul along for the ride though, Jesse's in for a hell of a weekend. (Set in S5A after the Chicks 'n Guns deleted scene from 5x08.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic incorporates a good deal of backstory from Better Call Saul, and occasionally features/mentions a character or two from BCS. Obviously, there's no telling how BCS canon is going to affect this story, so this is just a pre-emptive warning that events or dialogue from BCS might invalidate entire scenes, nay, this entire fic. As an anal-retentive control freak, this upsets me a great deal, but I'm willing to take the plunge and hope for the best. You guys probably don't care, but I thought I'd throw a warning up for all the future nitpickers. :P

"Hey, kid, I heard about your little, uh, inheritance," Saul says as Jesse walks into his office. "Any plans for your newfound wealth?"

Jesse sits in the chair across from Saul's desk. "Yeah, actually, that's what I wanted to talk to you about."

Saul steeples his fingers and leans in. Mr. Attentive.

Jesse toys with the hem of his t-shirt. "You got expensive taste, right? Your office, your suits..."

"Aww, are you gonna buy me something? I'm touched, really."

"I wanna spend it. Like, on a vacation."

Saul huffs amusement, kicks back in his chair. "Well, can't say you haven't earned it."

"I mean, it makes sense, right? If you think Mr. White's comin' for me, maybe I should get outta town for a couple days. Pay in cash, totally untraceable."

"Not exactly."

"But enough to keep Mr. White from findin' me," Jesse presses. "If he wanted to track me down, he'd have to go through you, right? You know a guy who knows another guy who could do that?"

"Hypothetically. So what's the deal?"

"I just—I dunno where to go. What do you think?"

Saul lifts an eyebrow. "You want me to tell you where to go on vacation?"

"Yeah," Jesse says, like he has no idea how bizarre that sounds.

"Pardon the insensitivity here, but don't you have friends for this sort of thing? Most people don't ask their lawyer about the hottest vacation spots."

"I had a lot more friends before Mr. White came along," Jesse says in a moment of honesty. Walter White damages more relationships than a heated game of Monopoly. Because at least the little Scottie dog thimble doesn't murder anyone when he goes bankrupt.

Saul winces and glances off. "What about, uh, what's-his-name? Badger?"

Jesse shakes his head. "Badger's idea of havin' fun usually involves, like, crystal." He rubs a hand over his face. "I don't wanna get back into that."

"Right, yeah, your sobriety thing." Saul does something with his fingers that twists Jesse up in knots. "Well, I'm honored that I'm... pretty much last on your list, but, hey, I'm here to advise, right?" He chuckles. "The financially-conscious part of me wants to suggest a savvy investment in a thriving business, but the fun part of me says Vegas, baby." Saul spreads his hands. "There's a reason it's the go-to locale for pissing away your life savings."

Jesse hadn't even thought of that. Since Saul showed up the other day and handed him a gun, Jesse's brain feels fuzzy. He wants a good night's sleep. He wants to open his eyes and be somewhere far away from Walter White and the periphery of Heisenberg.

"Man, I miss that town," Saul says. "Y'know, I probably wouldn't even be a lawyer today if it wasn't for Vegas." His mouth's curled into a soft, reminiscent smile.

"You've been there? Is it cool? I mean, it looks dope, but I don't wanna get shanked and end up as a dead guy on an episode of  _CSI_."

"I've been there plenty of times, and I'm still unshanked, as it were."

Jesse sinks into the chair a bit. "You gamble? Or what?"

"A little bit of everything. My brother was a big fan of Old Vegas, so we'd check out that kind of stuff: The Neon, the Mob Museum..."

Jesse had no idea Saul even  _had_  a brother. He realizes Saul looks exhausted, like dealing with Mr. White's bullshit has siphoned so much joy and life out of him. The idea forming in Jesse's head is probably stupid as all hell, but it feels right. "Yo, why don't you come with me?"

Saul blinks in surprise. He looks stunned, as if his brain just... _stopped_. Jesse's tempted to shake him and see if that jump-starts him.

"Yeah, we can party, buy stuff, stay at five-star hotels, do some gambling... It'll be the shit. When was the last time you had a vacation?"

Saul gives it a moment of thought, checks his watch. "Two years, ten weeks, four and a half hours."

"Wow." Jesse's not sure if he's impressed or terrified; he finds a safe place between the two.

Saul hasn't said yes yet, which is kind of stressing Jesse out. He rubs his tattooed arm, drops his gaze to the floor. "You don't have to if you don't wanna. I just, I dunno, I thought it'd be cool, y'know, not to be by myself."

Saul's quiet for a moment like he's thinking it over. After about ten seconds—yes, Jesse counts them—Saul taps the intercom. "Francesca, clear my schedule for the next four days. I'm taking a long overdue vacation."

She sighs like she's pissed at the universe for making her deal with Saul. "I'm the one who needs a vacation around here."

"Just do it. C'mon, I'll make it worth your while."

There's another sigh Jesse assumes is a yes, because Saul switches off the intercom and and swivels to face him. "Looks like I'm free."

Jesse can't help the smile that spreads on his face. This is pretty low on the list of craziest things he's ever done, but it feels monumental. He's finally doing something for himself, something he  _wants_  to do. Sure, Saul's along for the ride, but he's not horrible. If he were, Jesse wouldn't have bothered extending the offer. Jesse doesn't do pity, yo, especially when said pity might cost him five million.

Okay, there's no way he's spending all five million in Vegas. But he can damn well try.

Saul claps his hands together. "So, my car or yours?" He laughs. "Just kidding. Of course we're taking mine."

"Seriously?"

Saul makes a face. "No offense, but I've seen that piece of crap you drive. I'd rather not get stranded on the interstate, 'cause guess what? It's all desert."

Yeah, Jesse's not too confident in his car's ability to make this journey.

"Also, my car has GPS. Sorry, kid. You think you can handle being in a car with me for eight hours?" Saul asks with a lilt of a smirk at the corner of his mouth.

"Dude, I spent four days straight in the desert with Mr. White."

Saul lets out a low whistle. "Yeah, that's... that's pretty commendable. There should be an award for that."

"I hope your taste in music is better than his," Jesse mumbles.

"You'll just have to wait and see, won't you?"

Jesse groans. "Alright, ground rules: we switch playlists every two hours. Nobody gets to monopolize the music."

"That sounds fair," Saul says. "So, tomorrow morning, bright and early? I'll pick you up at, let's say, eight?"

Jesse's eyes bulge. "In the morning?" He can't even remember the last time he woke up at eight.

"If I bring food, will that persuade you out of bed? Personally, I can't resist the siren song of a McGriddle."

"That's a pretty crazy combination of words," Jesse says. "But, uh, you don't—you don't have to bring me anything." He deflects his gaze to his shoes. One of his laces is coming untied. "I'll be fine."

Saul strokes his chin as if in deep thought. "I guess you want me to handle the hotel stuff?"

"Yeah, could you? I mean, since you've been there you probably know a good place to stay." Jesse scratches the back of his neck.

"Not a problem, kiddo. I got it all under control. You just go home, pack your bags, and set your alarm. Consider me your tour guide to Sin City."

So, Jesse's going to Vegas with his lawyer. Party on.

* * *

Jesse wakes up to his alarm at exactly eight o'clock, because it takes him about ten minutes to get ready. He wants all the sleep he can get. He briefly considers what to wear before throwing on a t-shirt and jeans. Saul doesn't give a shit about Jesse's clothes as long as all the inappropriate-to-show-in-public parts are covered. His breakfast consists of half a bag of Bugles and a can of Red Bull. He's stuffing his phone charger into his bag when the doorbell rings.

Jesse opens the door and gets a good look at Saul. He tries not to laugh, he really does, but, wow, he's never seen Casual Saul before. It's a pretty hilarious sight. Saul's wearing dark jeans—jeans, for God's sake—and an AC/DC t-shirt. Saul listens to AC/DC. This is damaging to Jesse's world view. He needs a moment.

Jesse's quiet snickering makes Saul furrow his brow. "What?"

"Dude, you have arms."

Saul stares at him like he's trying to figure out how Jesse's brain works. Jesse realizes how weird that comment sounds out of context. "I've never seen you wear a t-shirt before," he explains. "I didn't even know you owned one."

"I'm full of surprises. Now grab your stuff. You can admire my killer guns while we're on the road."

Jesse glares and turns to grab his bags, his face about ten different shades of red. He was  _so_  not admiring anything about Saul.

Jesse tosses his luggage into the trunk of Saul's Cadillac. There's a grease-stained paper sack on the passenger seat. Jesse hands the bag over to him as he sits down. Saul just gives him a skeptical look. "That's for you, kid. Thought you might want somethin' to eat."

Jesse's mouth drops open. "I—I told you you didn't have to..."

"Well, what can I say, I'm the generous type." Saul switches on the ignition, and the engine hums to life. The speakers blare a song Jesse knows but can't remember the name of. Saul switches the music down, trying casual, but Jesse's not oblivious. Saul was totally jamming out in here. Jesse can't even picture him as the type to listen to loud music. Every preconceived notion he has about Saul is getting blown the fuck out of the water today.

Jesse rummages through the bag and digs out a biscuit sandwich. "Oh fuck yes, I love these things!" He unwraps it, and, okay, maybe he lets out a squeal when he sees it's got chicken strips inside. Maybe that's a thing he does. He takes an enormous bite, then there's honey sauce dripping down his chin, and he doesn't even care because it's  _so good_. "Oh my God," Jesse moans.

"If you get any crumbs in my car, you're vacuuming her out at the next rest stop," Saul warns him, pulling onto the road.

Jesse makes a sound of agreement around the food in his mouth. He thinks about turning up the music, but he doesn't want to seem like a douchebag. This trip ought to be a good opportunity to get to know Saul. Maybe he should take it instead of appearing unapproachable.

"So, you, uh, you like this kind of music?" Fuck, that sounds really judgemental. Jesse wishes he could claw the words back. "I—I mean, it's cool, I just—didn't know you were into that."

"Like I said, I'm full of surprises."

Some answer. Jesse takes another bite of his sandwich. "So you got a brother. He cool?"

Saul gives a half-assed shrug. "He's a good guy, yeah. A pain in my ass sometimes, but that's how it goes, huh?"

Jesse smirks knowingly. "Totally. He younger or older than you?"

"Older, so of course he thinks he knows everything."

It's difficult to picture Saul as someone's little brother. This trip is seriously fucking with Jesse's understanding of the world. Jesse licks a glob of honey from the corner of his mouth. "What's he do?"

"He's a lawyer too."

"That's pretty cool. Is law like a family trade or somethin'?"

"Nah, ol' Chuck graduated law school, and I figured, hey, I can't always be the family disappointment, so I followed his lead."

Jesse wants to poke at that "family disappointment" thing. He takes another bite of his sandwich. "You guys still keep in touch?"

Saul gestures in a way that's probably supposed to mean something. "Periodically," he says, with an edge that makes Jesse want to know more. There's something deeper there, but he's not going to press the issue if Saul isn't comfortable talking about it.

"What about you, kid? I only met your parents once, but they didn't strike me as totally crazy about you."

Jesse chuckles humorlessly. "You got that right." He sinks into the seat, tilts the A/C vent so the air blows on him. "They'd do anything for my little brother though." Then again, so would Jesse.

"Is he the, uh, golden child of the family?"

"Oh yeah. He's one of those, like, genius kids, so yeah, they're proud of him."

Saul's expression softens, like he hears the subtext there. "The two family screw-ups go to Vegas."

Jesse snickers. "Sounds like a movie."

"Let's hope it's a good one."

* * *

They stop for fuel and food about halfway into Arizona. Once the tank's filled and the car smells like Taco Bell, Saul takes a little detour north. Jesse looks like he wants to ask why they're not heading west anymore, but he's in no hurry, munching on nachos like he doesn't have a care in the world.

Everything about Jesse is rough and heated, a slow implosion in progress. Saul wants to see how Jesse lives when he's not sanded down by the constant wear of Walter White. Saul's seen glimpses of that youthful, fun spirit in Jesse. He knows it's in there, it just needs a little coaxing.

Jesse figures out where they're going when they drive by a sign that reads "Grand Canyon National Park." He chuckles. "For real? You're takin' me to the Grand Canyon?"

That makes it sound like a date, which it absolutely isn't. "We're both going. It's been a while since I've seen it."

Jesse stretches his legs out. "What could'a changed? It's a giant crater."

Saul's almost offended that Jesse can't appreciate the natural beauty of the world, but he used to think the same thing. "If you're this close, you might as well see it."

Jesse shrugs like he can't argue with Saul's flawless logic.

They park where they can see the vast collection of plateaus and the veins of the river running through it all. Jesse eats in an almost reverent silence, staring out the window, but it's hard to look introspective while eating a burrito. Jesse does his best, though.

"In my experience, most people who come into this kind of money don't try to get rid of it all at once," Saul says into the silence. That's when it hits him, right the fuck out of nowhere, and makes his heart clench. Jesse's somber, sullen defeatism, the sudden urge to rid himself of his wealth, quitting the business...

"Kid, you're not—you're not thinkin' about"—Saul searches for a gentle euphemism—"checkin' out, are you?"

Jesse blinks, looks over at Saul. "What?"

"I mean, it's probably not a good idea to have five million lying around for the next of kin to fight over, but—"

"What the fuck are you talking about?" The disbelief in Jesse's voice takes Saul off-guard.

"Are you gonna kill yourself when this weekend's over and I take you home?"

Jesse recoils from the question, his eyes wide in horror. "What? No? Why would you—?"

Saul realizes he's misunderstood. "I just thought maybe you were—with you lookin' to spend your money, I thought..." He stops, starts over. "Then what is it? What's with the sudden philanthropy?"

Jesse glances at Saul. "You're still my lawyer, right? I mean, if I tell you somethin' you won't tell anybody?"

"My lips are sealed."

Jesse explains how Todd Alquist killed an innocent boy out in the desert. He tells Saul how he urged Walt to leave the business alongside himself and Mike. How Walt jeered him and said Jesse had nothing in his life aside from their partnership. How he tried to convince Jesse there would be no more violence. How he threatened that Jesse wouldn't receive a penny if he walked out.

"It's blood money," Jesse says plainly. "I wanna wash my hands of it."

Saul wonders about the red in his own finances and feels guilt burn in his gut. "That's... so much better than what I was thinking." His favorite thing about Jesse is how the kid's a gentle soul beneath that bratty exterior. Maybe Saul can use some of Jesse's innocence and goodness for himself to cover the black marks on his own soul.

Jesse chews in silence for a moment, then: "Were you worried about me?"

Saul wants to tease him about it—"What? Of course not!"—but he knows Jesse's asking because someone giving a shit about him is as rare as a solar eclipse. So he nods and says, "I'd miss you if you weren't around anymore."

Jesse huffs a weak laugh and looks out at the canyon. "Man, are we a couple of fuckin' downers or what?"

Saul smiles, reaching out and turning up the radio. Jesse seems to relax now that the space between them is filled with music. He gets out of the car while Saul eats to take pictures of their surroundings. Saul watches him, and he thinks he sees a hint of a smile at the edge of Jesse's mouth.

* * *

They don't fight over playlists as much as Jesse thought. Saul's got pretty good taste in music. It's nothing Jesse would choose to listen to, but he knows some of the songs and the others are decent enough.

He draws the line when Saul starts singing along with whatever's pumping through the speakers. "Ay yo," Jesse calls, "this ain't  _American Idol_. No singing."

"You can't  _not_  sing along to a Queen song. I'm pretty sure that's in the Constitution somewhere. Besides, I was a karaoke champion three years in a row."

"You're such a fuckin' liar," Jesse says around a laugh. "And karaoke is judged by drunks anyway. Being named champ isn't as prestigious as it sounds."

"Have  _you_  been named karaoke champion?"

"No."

"Then hush." Saul cranks the music up and blatantly ignores Jesse's newly-established rule. Jesse rolls his eyes, leaning the passenger seat back. Maybe he can sneak in a quick nap before they make it to Vegas. He drifts off to the smooth roll of the highway underneath him and the husky sound of Saul's voice.

Jesse's jerked awake an hour later when the car jolts like they've run over a deer. "Jesus," Jesse grumbles.

Saul glances over at him. "Oh, you're up."

Jesse rises and looks at the huge pothole that's shrinking in the rear-view mirror. "How did you not see that?"

"I did."

There's barely any other cars on the road, so there's no way Saul couldn't have avoided it. Jesse's brow knits while the cogs in his brain spin to life. He's not the sharpest thinker when he wakes up, but he figures it out pretty quickly. "Did you hit a pothole on purpose to wake me up?"

The corner of Saul's mouth twitches with a smile. "Why would I do that?"

"I 'unno, 'cause you're a dick?" Jesse adjusts the seat upright again, stares out at the dying brown surrounding them. "Pull over. It's my turn to drive."

Saul laughs. "Kid, I don't trust you behind the wheel of my baby." He grips the wheel a bit tighter like Jesse might reach over and steal it from him. "You strike me as the speed demon type."

Jesse can't argue with that, though he's been driving a lot safer since lately. Can't afford even the faintest sniff of police around him. "I could buy you a whole new car," Jesse says, which doesn't make Saul feel any better.

"Maybe we'll share some profound secrets, become best friends, and I'll let you drive on the way back." Saul smirks. "Maybe."

"Yeah, I'm not holdin' my breath."

* * *

Jesse makes Saul join him in a selfie in front of the iconic Vegas sign upon entering the city. En route to the hotel, Jesse's playing with his phone in a way that makes Saul a little suspicious.

"You're not going to tag me in that picture, are you?" Saul asks. "My hair's a mess, and I don't think my clients would like to know I pick favorites."

Jesse chuckles. "Whatever." Then he looks up from his phone. "I'm your favorite?"

"Hey, hey, c'mon, I didn't—I didn't say that exactly. From the outside, that's what it might look like, but—"

Jesse asks the hard-hitting question. "How would somebody know I'm one of your clients though?"

Saul doesn't answer that, just purses his lips in a sort-of frown.

"It's not like I'm gonna post this and be all 'on a road trip with my lawyer lol hashtag what happens in vegas.'"

"Did you really just say 'hashtag' out loud?" Saul shakes his head, bemoaning the state of today's youth. "And do people use hashtags on Facebook?"

"I don't use Facebook," Jesse says.

"Are you—What—Seriously? Even  _I_  have a Facebook page." Saul stresses the word in a way that tells Jesse this is serious shit.

The idea of Saul on any form of social media is fucking hilarious. "I have one, I just don't use it."

"Oh, good. We're in the same boat, then."

"What boat? The SS Losers With No Friends?"

Saul pouts, taking offense to that. "I have friends," he mutters under his breath.

The MGM Grand Hotel looms into view like a tower of neon green glass. Jesse stares up at the building. "Wow, this place looks dope."

"Yeah, you can't even tell it burned down," Saul says, as if that's not creepy at all.

"What? For real? Is it haunted?" Saul seems like the kind of guy who would purposely book them a haunted hotel.

"No, it's not haunted. I guess I can't prove that, but I've never seen it on one of those ghost hunter shows, so I figure it's safe."

"If any freaky shit happens, I'm drivin' home and leavin' your ass."

Saul chuckles and fixes Jesse with a curious stare. "Not that your fear of the paranormal isn't adorable, but after all the real-world horrors you've lived through, how can you be afraid of ghosts?"

Jesse's mouth drops open, his stomach plunging to his toes. Saul just called him adorable. Jesse lets himself breathe before he says, "You've never been haunted, have you?" He believes in ghosts, because they visit him every night.

"I've got the Ghostbusters on speed dial," Saul says, completely missing the point.

The inside of the hotel is decorated in ornate golds and striking red accents. The floor's so shiny Jesse thinks he might slip on it. He gawks at the expansive lobby while Saul goes to the front desk. Huge television sets on either side display advertisements for hotel events and specials. Jesse admires the enormous golden lion centerpiece, distracted by the bustle around him. On his right, there's a souvenir shop the size of the entire first floor of his house.

He's still taking in the sights when Saul appears at his side. "Impressive, huh?"

"Totally." Jesse's trying not to sound too awed, but he's never been anyplace like this. "I wonder what the room looks like."

Saul chuckles like he knows something Jesse doesn't and flashes him the room key. "Let's find out."

Jesse does his best to ogle like a tourist as Saul leads him to the elevators. The elevator bank replaces the rich gold and red tones with soft, ethereal blues and the occasional firey orange accent from the lighting. It's calming, peaceful, as if underwater. He glances around, wondering why they're the only ones waiting on the elevators.

Saul picks up on his curiosity. "Our room is a little more elite and prestigious than the average guest's."

"Oh yeah?"

"I might've gone a little overboard," Saul says as the elevator chirps. "But, hey, you wanted to spend money."

They step inside. "Hell yeah. Let's get a look at this bitch."

The elevators move at the speed of light. Jesse braces himself against one of the rails. Saul smothers a laugh at his expense. Dick.

They walk through a long hallway until Saul stops to unlock their room. When the door opens, Jesse's not prepared for what lies inside.

The room is, to be frank, fucking  _awesome_. The foyer opens up to an actual living room with couches and chairs and an unbeatable view of the city. There's a dining area with a wet bar, a mini fridge, and a coffee machine. Giant television screens hang on the walls. "Dude, this looks like an apartment," Jesse says.

"That's kinda the idea."

Double glass doors lead out to a private deck. "Holy shit," Jesse murmurs, making his way outside. There's a small pool on the right, the tranquil water glistening an azure blue.

But Jesse's attention locks on the wink and glitter of neon lights over the balcony. Colossal hotels stand tall against the sky, their windows catching the colors of the fading sun. A mountainous landscape lies in the distance as the perfect backdrop to the smorgasbord of lights that spreads out for miles. Some of the hotels have their names plastered across the top—Mandalay Bay, Monte Carlo.

"What's that castle thing over there?" Jesse asks.

"Excalibur."

"Is that, like, a giant Medieval Times or somethin'?"

"Well, kind of. They do have the whole jousting thing. But it's mostly a hotel and casino. Pretty much everything you see out here is a hotel, casino, or both."

"What's that pyramid thing?"

"The Luxor." Saul points off to the right. "That's the Bellagio, and the one lit up like a purple Christmas tree is the Mirage."

Jesse looks at him. "How many times have you been here?"

"Enough." Saul leans on the railing; Jesse worries it might give way and send him plunging down twenty-nine stories. "So, whadd'ya think?"

Jesse makes a surprised noise. "Dude, it's awesome! You know I've never been anywhere this cool before, right?"

"Yeah, I got that feeling," Saul says, with a hint of a smile in the lines at the corners of his eyes. "You look like you're having a religious experience."

"Shut up," Jesse huffs out around a laugh. "Don't hate just 'cause you've been here a million times. It's not my fault I'm, like, a Vegas virgin."

Saul laughs at that one and heads back inside. "Well, then let's go pop your cherry."

Jesse's jaw drops as Saul swings the door open. He  _cannot_  believe Saul actually said that. He feels a stir of heat in his stomach. Jesse mouths, "oh my God," and follows Saul inside. "Homo." He hopes Saul doesn't hear the way his voice shakes around the word.

Saul grabs his bags and effortlessly carries them up the stairs. "Hey, you set me up for the punchline."

Jesse nods, because, yeah, he kind of did. "You didn't have to take it."

"You really don't understand me at all, do you?"

Probably not. Jesse figures he might as well unpack while they've got some downtime. The top floor boasts two bedrooms, each with their own bathroom. Jesse claims the vacant bedroom on the far end. The bed is big enough for maybe three or four people; the shower stall's about the same. He's still not sure why the bathroom needs a television, but whatever. There's a walk-in closet that could fit more clothes inside than Jesse even  _owns_. "Holy shit, look at the size of this closet," he says aloud to no one in particular.

Saul loiters in the closet doorway while Jesse's putting his clothes away. "C'mon, Pinkman, daylight's wastin'."

Jesse doesn't falter. "I thought all the cool shit in Vegas happens at night."

Saul makes an amused sound. "See, this is why you need me." He smirks, then: " _I can show you the world_ —"

"What did I say about singing?"

"Pretty sure that only applies in the car."

Jesse sighs, because Saul is the actual worst. "Pretty sure it  _doesn't_."

"What about humming? Can I hum, or have you declared a moratorium on all things musical?"

"How are you so"—Jesse searches for the word, comes up empty—" _this way_  all the time?" He hangs up another t-shirt. "Doesn't it get exhausting?"

"I was born with a staggering amount of charisma. It's a burden I've chosen to carry for the sake of mankind. I'm like Superman, if you replaced the ability to fly with the ability to make a woman disrobe with nary a smile."

Jesse doesn't mean to laugh at that, but it happens anyway. He can't help it. Saul can't say ridiculous shit like that and expect him to keep a straight face.

"Ah, a skeptic. You'll see, kid. By the end of the night, I'll have worked my magic."

Jesse grins. "You're one of those dudes who totally buys it when the stripper flirts with you, huh?"

"For tonight's purposes, I won't be performing the patented Goodman charm on anyone whose paycheck depends on finding lame one-liners and pick-up lines amusing."

Saul didn't exactly answer Jesse's question, so Jesse's assuming that's a yes. He moves toward Saul. "Alright, you're on. I can't wait to see you make an ass outta yourself."

"Careful what you wish for."

They ride the elevator down to the casino. Jesse's still in "gawk like a tourist" mode, so he gets a little distracted. Saul has to pull him away from ogling the gold statues and the sheer size of everything. "C'mon, I wanna lay down a couple ground rules," Saul says as they walk inside.

"Rules?"

"Well, they're more like helpful hints. Number one: if you spend or win a lot of money, the hotel will notice."

Jesse gasps. "'Cause it's haunted, right?" He fucking  _knew it_.

Saul's brow creases. "No, they keep track of people who spend a lot because they want repeat business. So maybe they pay for the room, give you some casino or food credits. Whatever it takes to make you lay more money down."

That sounds like something Jesse wants to avoid. Kinda defeats the purpose of coming here if all the money he spends comes back to him. "Okay," Jesse says, nodding. "What's number two?"

Saul looks off to the side, presses his lips into a line. "There isn't a number two. I thought I had more, but I guess not."

"Wow," Jesse says, unenthused. "Not gonna teach me how to play anything?"

Saul gives him a curious look. "I thought you wanted to lose."

"Yeah, but I don't wanna be totally obvious about it. People'll think I'm stupid."

"They'll just think you're drunk like everyone else is." Saul gives a dismissive handwave. "Who cares?"

Jesse stops himself from saying, "I care," like a complete tool. He shrugs and says, "Yeah, I guess."

"So, whadd'ya say we meet back up here in, what, two hours?" Saul offers.

"Sure."

Jesse's not a professional gambler, so he finds a blackjack table and does his best not to look like a total newb. His playing style—or more likely, his cash flow—catches the eye of a gorgeous dark-haired girl in a sparkling green cocktail dress. She sits beside him, sipping at a fruity drink. A tiny paper umbrella rests against the rim of her glass.

"You know the point is to win money, right?" she says.

Jesse huffs a humorless laugh. "Thanks, I wondered what I was doing wrong."

She smiles, pink lips stretched over pearly teeth. "Is this your first time in Vegas?"

"Am I wearing a sign or somethin'?"

"Lucky guess."

"Looks like you got more luck than me."

"It'll pick up," she says, patting his hand. "What's your name?"

He doesn't see the harm in being honest. "Jesse."

"Jesse," she says, as though testing how the name sounds in her mouth. "I'm Rosita."

As their conversation builds, Jesse learns Rosita is a showgirl and a Vegas native. The more he focuses on the give and take of information between them, the more money he wins.

"You've won five hundred dollars so far!" Rosita whispers, incredulous.

"Yeah, I guess I'm gettin' better at this." Jesse isn't sure if he should laugh or cry right now. "Or maybe you're good luck."

She laughs. "I like that theory." Rosita finishes her drink and spins on the stool so her body's facing him. "What about you, Jesse?" She makes his name sounds like a double entendre. "What brings you to Sin City?"

Jesse shrugs. "I wanna have a good time, get away for a while."

"Where are you from?"

If Saul were here, would he be standing over Jesse advising him to lie? "Albuquerque."

"So you're pretty comfortable with the desert, huh?"

Jesse laughs to himself. "Yeah, totally."

By the time two hours have passed, Jesse's about two hundred dollars richer. He doesn't even think about the time until he's hopping down from the stool. Rosita sidles up beside him. "You wanna get a drink? There's a bar on the second floor that makes the best mojitos."

Jesse rubs the back of his neck and glances away. "Actually, I—uh, I came here with somebody," he says, almost as if on instinct. He checks the time on his phone, sees a missed text from Saul. "Shit, they're probably waiting on me right now. It was nice meeting you, though."

"You too."

Jesse doesn't know what to think as he heads for the casino entrance. Did he really turn down a hot chick to hang out with Saul? God, he did. Why did he do that? And why was it so immediate, like he didn't even have to think about it?

Because over the course of their road trip, Jesse's learned that Saul is interesting. He's nowhere near the dull, bland image Jesse built up in his head. Saul is nothing like Mr. White. He doesn't watch Jesse out of the corner of his eye, waiting for him to do something wrong. He's just... a vibrant person. And he carries that vibrance like an aura, sharing it with whoever is near him. Jesse needs that kind of warmth and positivity in his life, and Saul supplies it in spades. No wonder Jesse feels so light and buoyant around him.

Saul smirks when Jesse emerges from the casino. "There you are. How's your luck?"

"I won two hundred bucks."

That makes him laugh. "Jeez, I might've lost that much."

Jesse digs some bills out of his pocket and shoves them into Saul's hand. "There. Problem solved."

Saul chuckles, pockets the money. "Easiest two hundred bucks I've ever made. What'dya say we go back up to the room and put that wet bar to good use?"

"Hells yeah."

* * *

It turns out Saul's actually pretty good at mixing drinks. Jesse would be surprised, but he stopped being surprised by Saul about halfway through Arizona.

"So, what's your poison, kid?" Saul asks. "Whiskey? Vodka? Lemme guess, you're more of a rum guy, right?"

Jesse shrugs and shifts in his seat. "Beer is fine."

Saul sighs as though he bears the weight of the world on his shoulders. "I'm taking that as a 'surprise me.'" He pulls out some bottles from the bar and starts pouring into an empty shot glass. Jesse watches with piqued curiosity. "You're not allowed to drink boring on my watch."

Saul slides the finished drink across the table to Jesse. Jesse examines the contents. "What is it?"

"The common name is a Slippery Nipple, but clearly whoever was in charge of the nomenclature never actually tasted a nipple."

Jesse kicks the shot back. It's not as bitter as he was expecting. It's kind of smooth in a way that reminds him of Saul. "Yeah, totally." He watches Saul pour himself a drink. "Did you used to be a bartender or somethin'?"

Saul chuckles. "No, I'm what you call a 'recreational drinker.' My late twenties and early thirties were basically a giant 'screw you, liver.'"

"Kind of a late start for 'recreational drinking,'" Jesse says, complete with air-quotation marks.

"Yeah, well, divorce is a pretty good reason to hit the bottle, right?"

Ouch. Jesse flinches away from the raw truth in those words. "Yeah..." He regrets bringing it up now. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It's not as bad as it sounds." Jesse's life has been lousy with addicts long enough that he knows to ignore their protestations of sobriety.

Jesse reaches out and wraps his fingers around Saul's glass. "You sure you should be drinkin'?"

Saul lets Jesse drag the glass across the table. "Are you trying to protect me? That's... kind of adorable."

Saul just called him adorable.  _Again_. "I just don't want you to relapse, is all."

Saul laughs an airy sound. "Relapse? I'm not an addict, kid. You don't have to worry about me." He doesn't seem angry or offended by Jesse's concern, so maybe he  _is_  fine. But Jesse will keep an eye on him tonight. He'd be heavy as shit to drag back up to the room if he drinks himself stupid.

Saul tips his glass and pours the orange-ish brown liquid down his throat. Jesse watches with far too much interest. "So, uh, hey, what'd you do to get labeled the family screw-up?" he asks, softening the question with a self-deprecating chuckle. "I mean, you know my story. What's yours?"

Saul swirls the remaining contents of his glass. "You want the short version?"

"Whatever you wanna tell me."

A small smile tugs at the corner of Saul's lips. He stares into his glass for a moment and says, "I was a con man."

Jesse struggles with a snort of a laugh. "You?"

Saul makes a face. "You don't think I could run a scam?"

"What'd you do?"

"I grew up in Cicero, and when the winters rolled around I figured out a quick way to make a buck. A couple thousand bucks, actually." He takes another drink. "All a guy had to do was slip on a nice patch of ice, and, bam, he'd clear a good six to eight grand."

"And this guy was you?" Jesse's still stuck on that part. Saul nods. "So, how'd you go from a con man to a lawyer?"

"Obviously I had to straighten up, right? I mean, you pull too many schemes and eventually you land yourself in trouble."

A smirk spreads on Jesse's mouth. "You got pinched?"

Saul purses his lips and glances off. "Not my proudest moment."

"Wow." Jesse sits back in his chair, soaking in this glorious moment. "So you really are a  _criminal_  lawyer, huh?"

Saul groans and takes another mouthful of liquor.

"That's dope, though. You're, like, legit. You understand the struggle," Jesse says. Saul looks at him with a soft smile, as if seeing Jesse for the first time. "What?"

Saul shakes his head and drops his gaze to his drink. "N—nothing, you just—you remind me of someone I used to know." A hint of melancholy flickers in Saul's eyes. He looks at Jesse's empty glass. "You need a refill?"

"I don't wanna get, like, shit-faced or anything."

"So, wine, then?" Saul's up and grabbing a bottle of red from the shelf. He pours Jesse a glass and slides it over to him. Jesse takes the stem between his fingers, examines the contents like they might come to life and attack him.

"It's just grapes, kid."

Jesse sniffs the dark red liquid. "What's it taste like?"

Saul gives him a perplexed look. "Grapes. Jesus, haven't you ever—" He stares at Jesse with an unfair amount of disbelief. "You've never had wine before, have you?"

"No. Wine's for chicks and rich people."

Saul blinks a few times too many; Jesse might have just broken Saul. "Never? You know they have wine at Olive Garden, right?" Jesse hesitates a second too long. "Oh my God, please don't tell me you've never been to Olive Garden."

"When I was a kid, yeah," Jesse says, because he's not  _that_  sheltered.

Saul sighs. "When was the last time you went to a restaurant with cloth napkins?"

Jesse thinks it over for a moment, and just ends up shrugging.

Saul opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again. "Okay, we have to rectify this immediately. We're going to the fanciest restaurant this place has to offer. You get to have an upscale restaurant experience  _and_  spend money. It's a two-fer." He taps on the rim of Jesse's glass. "C'mon, drink up. Just a sip so you know where to start when the wine menu comes."

Jesse lifts the glass to his lips and takes a swallow. It tastes like grape Fanta with a hint of cough syrup. Jesse grimaces but doesn't spit it out. Big of him. "I thought they were s'posed to take their shoes off before they stepped on the grapes."

Saul laughs an actual laugh, not one of his usual half-assed chuckles. Jesse beams. "Not a fan, huh? Alright." Saul takes back the glass and chooses another bottle. He pours a light colored wine into an empty glass. "Try this one."

Jesse sips this time. He doesn't want to jump the gun and end up with a mouthful of something gross. This one tastes like grape-flavored ginger ale with a satisfying afterburn. He licks his lips and swallows half the glass.

Saul smirks. "Slow down, kid. This isn't a kegger."

"Bet I can drink more than you."

"Yeah, you probably can," Saul says. "But you couldn't beat me in my prime." He swirls the wine around in his glass before taking a sip.

"So when do we eat?" Jesse asks, sipping his wine like a total pro. He tastes a hint of green apple this time around. "I'm starving."

"As soon as you're dressed in the proper formal attire. You brought a suit, didn't you?" Saul watches as Jesse makes a face. "Of course you didn't. You're not getting out of this that easily. There's plenty of shops in the hotel where you can pick one up."

"What about you?" Though Jesse's suspicious Saul's got a treasure trove of suits hidden somewhere.

"You think I didn't plan ahead for this contingency?"

Of course. Jesse finishes his glass of wine before pushing away from the table. "Alright, I'mma go buy a suit."

* * *

Jesse's gone for about an hour, and Saul passes the time researching the hotel's cuisine offerings. He shoots Jesse a text that reads:  _ **What kind of food do you like? Your choices are: French, Chinese, steak, Japanese, Italian, seafood, American, or Mexican. Choose wisely.**_

Jesse writes back:  _ **pizza bitch**_

Saul sighs. This boy needs some culture. He types out:  _ **You're not going to a high-end restaurant just to order a pizza. Christ, have some sense of culinary adventure.**_

Jesse sends a reply about five minutes later:  _ **why dont u pick somethin then**_

Saul fears for Jesse's Autocorrect, because that sentence is atrocious in so many ways.

He entertains himself by flipping channels on the widescreen TV in the living room. Despite the crystal-clear picture and the size of the screen, the channels hold nothing of interest. Some things just don't change no matter how much technology advances.

Saul hears the front door open. He turns his head in the direction of the sound. Jesse steps inside wearing a black suit with skinny lapels and an even skinnier black tie laid flat against his crisp white shirt. He looks like a GQ model. Saul's never seen Jesse wear anything but over-sized hoodies, baggy jeans, and graphic tees. This is a good look for him.

"Lookin' sharp," Saul says instead of the saucier compliments swirling in his brain.

Jesse flashes him a chagrined smile. "You think? Is it fancy enough?"

"Absolutely. You should dress up more often; might score you some points with the ladies." Nice save.

"I do just fine," Jesse grumbles as he passes by the couch. He goes upstairs to drop off the bag containing his old clothes. "So,what'd you decide on?" he calls from the top floor.

"How do you feel about seafood?"

"Dude, I would fuckin' eat cardboard right now."

"Well, this is a significant step up from cardboard. At least it should be, with an average check of forty bucks."

"You're not even payin', dude," Jesse reminds him. Saul can just barely see him moving about in his room. "Chill, I got this. Just gimme a sec." Saul figures he's loading his wallet with more cash. After a minute, Jesse hurries down the stairs. "Alright, let's do this."

The restaurant maintains the hotel's theme of luminous golds, accented with mahogany furnishings. Their table backs up against the glass-encased wine rack near the rear of the restaurant. Toward the center is the bar, with a luminescent purple display of the various spirits. Saul's got a pretty fantastic view, but Jesse earns most of his attention.

The meal comes in three courses. Saul sips from long-stemmed glasses of wine and watches Jesse dive into his starter plate of ribs. He devours the meat off of the bones, licks barbecue glaze from his fingers. This is probably the nicest meal Jesse's had in quite a while, so Saul doesn't hassle him about table manners.

"Save room, kid. There's more to come," Saul says, filling Jesse's empty wine glass.

"Don't worry about me, yo. I got room." Jesse's tongue darts out and licks away a dab of sauce at the corner of his lips.  _Oh no_ , that's attractive. Saul briefly contemplates icing down his crotch.

"Is this what you and your brother used to do in Vegas? Gamble and eat?" Jesse asks.

"Those are pretty vital activities. But, again, there's more to come; this is just day one of our Magical Mystery Tour of Vegas."

Jesse wrinkles his nose. "Was that a Beatles reference?"

"It was."

Jesse catches a hint of Saul's surprise. "Mike used to listen to them a bunch when we'd go on our rides. He'd always smack my hand away when I went to change the station." Jesse chuckles at the memory, something sad around the edges of his smile. He takes another drink. "You know I've never been in a place this fancy before?"

"Yeah, I had a feeling your idea of fine dining was eating inside the Burger King."

Jesse huffs a laugh. "You think you're funny, huh?"

"You're the one who's been laughing at all my jokes."

"Shut up, no, I haven't." Jesse's cheeks flush pink, and he glances away.

"You just did."

"That wasn't a 'ha-ha' laugh," Jesse insists. "That was, like, a 'you're stupid and ridiculous' laugh."

Saul leans back in his chair and watches Jesse's chagrin grow. "And yet you still invited me to come to Vegas with you. Now, why, I wonder, would you do such a thing?"

"'Cause you invited yourself, dude. You're all, 'oh, I love Vegas,' how am I not supposed to ask if you wanna go? You play dirty."

"Something you were fully aware of when you invited me along."

Jesse rolls his eyes and takes another drink. "Whatever."

Saul can't help but poke at Jesse's irritation. "But you're having fun, right? 'Cause I don't think I've seen you in this good of a mood since, well, ever."

"It's Vegas," Jesse mumbles. "How can you have a bad time in Vegas?"

"You've seen  _The Hangover_ , right?"

"That was a movie though. People make shit up."

The main courses arrive on enormous platters: shrimp etouffee laid over a bed of pearly white rice, lobster carbonara with hickory-smoked bacon and sugar snap peas, and a basket of cornbread. Jesse's practically salivating over his plate. He digs in once the waiter's walked away, as if his enthusiasm for delicious food would be viewed as unflattering.

"If you want an unfortunate Vegas story, I got plenty," Saul starts.

"Yeah?" Jesse says, his mouth full.

"Absolutely. Though they're mostly my brother's fault."

Jesse finishes chewing and says, "Tell me."

"Well, the first time we went, it was the mid-to-late '80s, and we wanted the whole Vegas experience. So we get a nice room at the Bellagio, gamble a bit, and we end up in a strip club. Chuck brings the stripper back to our room. I'm out like a light because I  _cannot_  handle that much vodka. I'm asleep for maybe ten hours. Chuck wakes up in the morning and realizes the stripper took our cash and raided the mini bar. Our credit cards are pretty much maxed out at this point. So Chuck has the brilliant idea of taking the last hundred bucks out of his account and trying to win back our money in the casino." Saul takes a sip of wine. "My brother is a terrible gambler, by the way."

Jesse's grinning and trying his hardest not to laugh. "Oh my God."

"So I wake up to Chuck shaking me awake and telling me all our money's gone."

"You punched him out, right?"

"Too hungover. I think I just groaned and fell back onto the bed."

"So how'd you get home?"

"I suggested we hitch a ride home since we couldn't afford a plane ticket. I used a little bit of money from my emergency account and won us enough to eat for the next two days. Good thing we paid for the room in advance, right?"

"Wow," Jesse says, his mouth open wide in amusement. "But it wasn't totally bad, right? You must'a had enough fun to keep goin' back."

"I never said it wasn't fun. The second time around, we were much more reserved."

"No more stories, huh?" Jesse asks, coy as he stuffs a piece of bread into his mouth.

"I've got plenty of stories, kid. You know my third marriage was a Vegas wedding?"

"For real?"

Saul entertains him with more anecdotes, delights in the way Jesse grins and laughs. He's not oblivious to Jesse's pinking cheeks or how often he refills his wine glass. Jesse's posture loosens up, and he leans back in his seat, sprawls his legs out underneath the table. His knee bumps against Saul's own, but Jesse doesn't seem to notice. Saul can't stop staring at how Jesse's fingers play along the stem of his glass. He finds himself wondering how Jesse might touch himself before shutting down that train of thought entirely.

 _Not now, boner_.

Saul thinks this is what dating Jesse would be like.

Jesse's wearing a curl of a smile on his lips, still fingering that damn glass. "You're full of shit. You said you were magic or whatever, but you haven't hit on anybody since we got here."

Saul's been working his charm on Jesse since this morning, but he's playing that card close to his chest. "It's not my fault our waiter's a guy. The Goodman charm is still in research and development when it comes to men."

"You flirt with dudes?"

Saul wants to shake Jesse and say, "I've been flirting with  _you_ ," because how can the kid  _not_  see that? Instead, Saul says, "I like to keep my options open."

Jesse opens his mouth like Saul's said something scandalous. "So you flirt with dudes... You ever gone any further than that?"

Saul almost chokes.  _Holy fucking shit_. "Hey, we're not here to talk about my sexual history. I don't kiss and tell."

Jesse glances off and scoffs a laugh. "How come you haven't tried to pick up any chicks then?"

"Because I'm distracted by your scintillating table conversation." God, Saul wants to be responsible for Jesse's next orgasm.

Jesse wipes a hand over his mouth. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"You're good company, Pinkman. Anyone ever tell you that?"

Apparently not, because Jesse blinks, looking shocked. "Not really, no. Mr. White never liked spendin' time with me. And I don't think Mike did either. I mean, he wasn't a total dick, but I think he just saw it as babysittin', y'know?"

Saul doesn't have to be a genius to see how talking about this distresses Jesse. He looks like a lost child, wondering why his parents don't love him anymore. "Hey, I'm sorry. I should've known better than to ask."

Jesse pokes at the remnants of his dinner with his fork. His somber mood vanishes when the waiter clears the table and sets two heaping bowls of vanilla ice cream topped with caramel sauce, chocolate shavings, and candied peanuts in front of them. Jesse gazes at his dessert like it's a long-lost lover. Saul's beyond wondering how Jesse has room for any of this.

He can't resist the urge to tease him a little. "This must be what that song 'Hungry Eyes' is about: the forbidden love between a man and his food."

"Look at it, Saul," Jesse says with fervor. "It's beautiful." He digs his spoon in and immediately takes a bite. Saul notes the way Jesse moans around the mouthful of sugary sweetness. He tries his damndest not to make correlations between that and how Jesse might look and sound with Saul's cock in his mouth.

"Yeah, it is," Saul murmurs, though he's not talking about the dessert. He edges off a spoonful of his own but doesn't find the same bliss Jesse does. But, hell, seeing Jesse smile is pretty much worth the price of admission.

After dinner, they head back to the elevators. Saul can tell the spirits have taken effect on Jesse. "This was so totally a date, wasn't it?" Jesse snickers out as the elevator door opens. Saul's legs stop working, because  _hold the fucking phone._  Jesse laughs and grabs his hand, pulling him into the empty elevator. "C'mon, you don't drop this much cheddar on a friend."

Saul regains a sliver of coherency to say, "I didn't drop anything. Technically, you took me on the most expensive date I've ever been on. I feel like I should put out." He chuckles around that last part in case Jesse's repulsed by the idea.

But Jesse's smug smile shifts something inside of Saul. "Yeah, maybe you should."

If Saul didn't know better, he'd think Jesse was flirting with him. But there's no way, right? Jesse couldn't possibly be interested. The wine's just lowered his inhibitions enough for him to volley back the jokes.

"Maybe I will." Saul tries to make that sound like a threat, but there's a quake in his voice.

Jesse looks up at the ceiling. "How come we aren't moving? Oh my God, are we stuck?"

Saul almost falls prey to Jesse's panic-stricken demeanor until he notices the problem. "It usually helps if you tell it where to go," he says, moving to press the proper button on the panel. Jesse laughs a deep, throaty sound, a sound that Saul wants to remember until the day he dies.

The elevator picks up speed. Jesse grabs onto the railing for balance he needs more than ever since the alcohol's slowed down his fine motor skills.

Saul wonders how much of Jesse's flirtation here is borne of genuine interest in Saul touching his dick and other body parts. Jesse's never flirted with him before, though there's some come-hither body language the kid can't turn off: intense eye contact, and the whole lip-licking thing. But Saul's never seen Jesse drunk. Maybe he's one of those people who gets flirty with everyone when they're tipsy.

A chime rings out, and the elevator opens up to their floor. Jesse leads the way at first, then he makes a wrong turn and they're heading back the way they came. Saul tugs at Jesse's jacket, just enough to orient him in the proper direction. Jesse turns and sort of startles when he sees how close Saul is. His gaze flicks down to Saul's lips for a fraction of a second before he glances away.

Saul tugs at Jesse's sleeve and guides him down the hall to their room. It takes him a little longer than it ought to getting the door open. His brain can't stop reminding him that Jesse was  _this_  close to his lips. Close enough to feel the air move with his breath. And of course he just stood there like a moron and let the moment pass him by. Because Saul's never initiated something like this before. He's not sure this could exist outside of tonight's boozy haze and devil-may-care decisions.

Saul opens the door and lets Jesse inside first. Jesse sheds his blazer over one of the leather chairs. He moves for the window where the city sparkles like a field of fireflies. Saul trails behind him and switches off the lamps. Jesse tosses Saul a concerned glance over his shoulder.

"It's easier to see without the glare," Saul says.

"Oh. Yeah. Thanks."

Saul admires the bristly scruff over Jesse's jaw and the way his body is so, so long. He remembers the delicious tattoo that curves over Jesse's forearm. "Hey, uh, I'll just—I'll be right back," he stammers. He takes the stairs as casually as a man in a panic can. But he doesn't want to give Jesse the wrong idea, so he takes it slow until he reaches his bedroom.

Saul locks himself in the king-sized bathroom and takes a deep breath. He can do this. He can totally do this. Jesse's tipsy, which means he might be more agreeable to Saul's advances. It's not like he hasn't been laughing at Saul's jokes all night, even the awful ones.

All Saul needs to do is psych himself up. Don't let Jesse see the terrified, paranoid man inside. Saul Goodman doesn't stumble over his words or wipe his too-sweaty palms on the front of his slacks. That's Jimmy McGill's shtick, and Jimmy McGill died a long time ago.

Saul rubs a hand over his mouth. This is just like giving an opening or closing statement, except instead of a jury he's only got to convince one person.

"So, uh, hey, Jesse," he starts, trying to find the right combination of words, "if you still want me to put out, now would be a good time to ask."

No, no, no.

"So, Jesse, maybe we could go upstairs and, uh, see what happens?"

That sounds like he can't make up his mind whether he wants to have sex or not. Amazing.

"Hey, kid, I, uh, I'm not really the best at this, but if you wanted to, y'know, fool around or something, I'd be up for that."

Indecisive  _and_  inexperienced. Perfect.

"I really want to be responsible for your next orgasm."

Why is this so hard? How do people even do this?

"What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, right?"

Could he sound like more of a sleaze if he tried?

Maybe he's approaching this all wrong. Jesse appreciates Saul's sense of humor, and this isn't something Saul's capable of handling face to face. Maybe...

Saul drags his cell phone out of his pocket and switches the screen to life. His conversation with Jesse is still open, beckoning him to send a life-ruining text message. It would be so much easier to play it off as a joke through text in case something goes horribly wrong.

With shaky fingers, Saul types:  _ **Still want me to put out tonight? ;) #whathappensinvegas**_

He hits send before he can talk himself out of it.

Oh God, oh Jesus, what the fuck did he just do? It's too late to recall that text. It's out there, arriving on Jesse's phone with a cheery little chime.

Why did he do that?

Saul rakes a hand through his hair. As much as he wants to stay here until the awkwardness can't hurt him anymore, it'll be difficult to pretend the text was a joke if he's hiding in the bathroom like a chump.

Saul pockets his phone—as if it hasn't ruined his entire life—and opens the door. Jesse's on the balcony, staring at his cell phone. He turns around when he hears Saul's footfalls coming closer. "Dude, did you just text me from the john?"

Saul pauses mid-stride. Oh no. "Wh—no! I was just..." Only revealing how pathetic he is can stop this hurricane of awful from sweeping them up. "I was trying to think of a half decent way to ask you if you wanted—if that was something that's on the table or not." He forces up a pained smile. If all else fails, maybe Jesse will take pity on him.

If Jesse pities Saul, it's not entirely clear through the graceless horse noises he's making.

Saul sighs. "A simple 'no' will suffice."

"Oh my God, you seriously—" Jesse gasps, breathless.

"It's not funny."

Jesse takes a breath and loses it immediately at the sight of Saul's wounded offense.

"Okay, you've been drinking, so I'm gonna give you the benefit of the doubt here." Saul can't be too upset about it, because Jesse's insanely good-looking, especially when he laughs. Over the course of almost a year, Saul's seen Jesse go from a lithe, loudmouth little twink boy to something harder and more rugged, yet still maintaining his youthful eyes and smile.

It's as if Jesse tried emulating Heisenberg when he cut his hair short, but couldn't complete the transformation because his heart is too full of hope and wonder. Saul sees it in the way Jesse laughs and smiles, the twinkle in his eye that says the old Jesse Pinkman's still in there, clawing to get out.

Jesse's hysterics taper into a huff of laughter that might be the last of it. But he's still grinning like this is going to be funny  _forever_. "Dude, that's—I don't even know what that is."

"It's pathetic, I know," Saul supplies with a heavy sigh.

Jesse does that squinty thing with his eyes and nose. "That's not the word I'd use."

"Right, that'd be, what? 'Hella lame'? 'Gay as hell'? Something along those lines?"

"Those are all more than one word."

Saul throws his hands up in irritated disbelief.

"It's not pathetic," Jesse says. "I get it. You're nervous, right? So am I. But we can figure it out." He rubs the back of his neck, glances away. "I mean, if I was gonna try it with anybody, it'd be you. 'Cause I know you won't, like, use it against me or anything."

Saul wonders how often Jesse's been manipulated to force him into guarding himself like that.

"Well, that's... oddly sweet." Saul never dreamed the possibility of sex with Jesse Pinkman could exist outside his own head. "But, hey, don't let me talk you into something you don't want."

"N—no, I do," Jesse says. He licks his lips, and, God, Saul wants to kiss that stupid, amazing mouth. "Do you really—with me?"

Saul looks around the room. "Is there someone else here I could be asking?"

"The ghosts," Jesse says, completely serious.

"How would you even have sex with a ghost?"

Jesse shrugs. "Demi Moore did it in that movie."

Saul thinks he's finally found someone who will understand his lame '80s movie references. "Well, I don't want to have mind-blowing, life-altering sex with a ghost."

"You think you're that good, huh?"

Saul moves closer, reaches down and starts working Jesse's belt out of its clasp. "I've had some, uh, pretty satisfied customers."

"Oh yeah?"

Saul doesn't answer. All he can focus on is how Jesse breathes hard into the space between them. Saul gets the belt unhooked, tugs Jesse's shirttails out of his pants. He can't help but slide his palm over Jesse's stomach and drag his fingers through the tease of hair. Jesse drops his head down to watch, gasping a breath as if he's surprised by how much he likes this.

Jesse's cheeks flush pink, his lips parted in arousal. Saul moves his hand around the curve of Jesse's hip, glides his fingertips along the valley of his spine. "If you don't want this, just say the word," Saul reminds him.

Jesse catches Saul's wrist, and Saul worries that Jesse might want to stop. "No, I want this," he says, his voice low and breathy. He leads Saul up the stairs, stumbling a bit. Saul catches him, his hands low and tight on Jesse's back as they make it into Saul's bedroom.

Jesse drops onto the mattress, reaching out for Saul's tie and pulling him closer. He ends up jerking Saul forward, and Saul has to catch his fall with his hands planted on either side of Jesse. Minus a couple layers of clothing, their dicks are touching.

And Jesse is unbearably hard.

Saul's brain snags on that particular detail while Jesse unravels his necktie and works on the buttons of Saul's shirt. Saul moves so he can stand, kicks off his shoes and unbuckles his belt. He doubts Jesse can summon that kind of dexterity when his dick's hard enough to hunt with.

Jesse gets Saul's shirt open and skims his palms over his chest. Saul loves the way Jesse's hands feel gliding down his abdomen. Jesse unbuttons and unzips him, sticks a hand inside Saul's boxers and wraps his fingers around his cock.

Saul shudders an embarrassing sound of want and nudges his hips into Jesse's touch. Jesse drops his head back and giggles. "Oh my God, this is the gayest thing I've ever done," he says, his fist squeezing and stroking.

"Not even in my top ten," Saul breathes out.

Jesse laughs again, his free hand pushing Saul's pants over his hips. Saul works Jesse's tie loose and hears two clunking sounds behind him. He looks in the direction of the noise and finds Jesse's shoes on the floor next to his own. Jesse might be trying to peel off his socks with his toes. Saul slips the buttons of Jesse's shirt from their clasps, and,  _holy fuck_ , look at him.

Saul's mouth goes impossibly dry. Jesse's lying there on the bed with his naked torso on display, and Saul cannot stop staring. The deliciously-placed dragon tattoo above Jesse's left nipple that Saul wants to put his mouth on. The teasing trail of hair leading from his navel to the slipping edge of his pants. The sparse patch of fuzz over his chest. The hollows of his throat and collarbone. The dip of his hipbones. His tattoo.  _His nipples._

Jesse bites his lower lip and squeezes Saul's dick. "Yo, c'mon, I thought you wanted to fuck me." Jesse wriggles underneath him, and, goddamn, that feels amazing. Saul stands up for a moment to tug Jesse's pants and boxers off in one go, discarding them like rags on the floor. Jesse is naked in Saul's bed. It takes a moment for that to really register.

Jesse slides his arms out of his shirt sleeves and tosses the shirt over the edge of the bed. He grabs a hold of Saul the best he can and hauls him up the bed. "Shit, dude, you weigh a ton." He hooks his legs around Saul's hips, sliding his hands up and down Saul's arms and chest.

Saul fits a hand around the curve of Jesse's thigh and squeezes with the slightest pressure, just enough to feel the taut muscle there. His thumb finds that little juncture where Jesse's knee and leg meet. Jesse giggles again, squirming under Saul's touch. Saul dips down, because he's had the urge to kiss the tattoo on Jesse's chest since he saw it.

Jesse hums a contented sound and arches his spine off of the mattress. He writhes in the bed, making the sheets slide and rumple. Jesse's hands roam over Saul's back and push at his boxers, nudging them down his thighs. Saul opens his mouth around Jesse's nipple. Jesse mewls out a sound Saul absolutely wants to hear again tonight. And maybe for the rest of his life.

Jesse clutches at the base of Saul's spine, his fingers digging in. Saul grinds his hips into the space between Jesse's legs. Jesse takes a sharp breath, because that's his dick Saul's grinding into. Saul smirks and grazes his teeth over the sensitive nub in his mouth. Jesse groans, squirming in the sheets like he's dying.

This is the only chance Saul has to worship every inch of Jesse's body before they're just awkward sort-of friends tomorrow. He sucks kisses over Jesse's throat and the snaking tattoo on his chest. He sucks and nips at Jesse's nipples until Jesse's clawing at Saul's back and sliding his legs over the bed. Jesse reaches down with an impatient hand, but Saul pins his wrist to the mattress. "No way. I'm gettin' you off, Pinkman."

Jesse licks his lips like that's the hottest thing he's ever heard. "Was that a lawyer joke?" he says, his nose crinkled in that adorable way of his.

Saul chuckles. "Maybe." He sits up, kneeling over Jesse in a way that makes him sort of dizzy. "Turn over."

Jesse's mouth opens, his lips curling around a smirk. He does as he's told while Saul moves to the foot of the bed and digs through his bag. "You better not be jerking off," Saul warns him. "I might think you don't trust me to give you a mind-blowing orgasm."

Jesse snorts a muffled laugh. "You're all talk. I bet you're over there tryin' to get your nut up."

"Not exactly," Saul says. He finds the bottle of lube he brought, because you never know when you're going to get laid. He'll be damned if he's caught unprepared in the heat of the moment.

Jesse's lying flat on his stomach with his face buried in the pillows when Saul makes it back to the bed. Jesse's back is almost as amazing as his front. There's a skull tattoo between his shoulder blades that Saul knows he'll have fun kissing. Light, sparse freckles cover Jesse's shoulder. His perfect ass bears a dimple above each cheek, and, man, that should not be so fucking hot.

Saul snaps the bottle open and gets his fingers wet. He tugs Jesse up to his knees, teases a finger at his opening. Jesse moans into the pillows and tilts his hips into the press of Saul's hand. "Oh fuck, that's"—he swallows—"that's good." Saul can't believe this is happening, can't believe he's even doing this. He's fingering Jesse Pinkman, and the kid's actually  _enjoying it_. Saul might be the first person to touch Jesse like this, and his stomach flips at the thought.

Jesse's hands curl around the pillows as Saul works his fingers in and out, stroking him open. He hears Jesse moan something that sounds like praise and maybe even Saul's name. Arousal curls in his belly, and he has to hear that again.

Jesse whines a shaky sound of loss when Saul slides his fingers out. "I didn't come yet."

"I know, kid," Saul grumbles, lathering his dick in the oil. "Just let me get inside you first before you start grading my performance." Jesse huffs impatience, but it's subsumed into a gasp as Saul lines himself up and slides in. Jesse takes it like a goddamn champ, lets Saul spread him open and take him. He's so tight and hot and wet it's fucking with Saul's head a little. Every coherent thought drops out of Saul's brain once he's buried deep inside Jesse. He can barely think anymore. His hips shove forward and drive into Jesse, pulling fractured little moans from him that sound so fucking good.

Saul digs his fingers into Jesse's hips and curls over him. He's sort of glad he can't see Jesse's face while they're doing this, because it's already too much. Watching Jesse's teeth capture his lower lip and his mouth open around moans might actually kill Saul.

Jesse chokes out broken noises and pushes his hips back, deepening the push and pull. They find a rhythm that works for this frantic, desperate, needy fuck. Saul breathes hot over Jesse's back tattoo, pressing his lips over the ink when Jesse's groans set his nerves ablaze.

His hands squeeze around Jesse's hips, coaxing him to move faster and rougher. Saul's name shakes out from Jesse's lips, a plea and a benediction all at once. Then he's gasping, "Fuck, God, yes, shit," and clawing at the pillows as he falls apart. Saul murmurs, "Jesse, Jesse, Jesse," into the curve of Jesse's shoulder, and he loses it in one hot slide, every muscle tight and twisted as he fucking  _ruins_  Jesse Pinkman. Jesse shakes through their shared orgasm, his entire body quaking and moans trembling in his throat. Saul drops his forehead against the tattoo on Jesse's back while his hips wring out the dying pulses of his climax.

"That was the shit," Jesse slurs into the pillow, and Saul can hear the smile in his voice. No, he didn't ruin Jesse. He ruined any hope of them having a non-sexual relationship, because Saul wants every night to end like this. He can feel Jesse's frantic heartbeat slow to a normal rhythm as they ride out the dimming waves of bliss.

"I told you I was a professional," Saul reminds him, because he so did. He drops into the empty space beside Jesse, still sort of catching his breath. Jesse slumps over the bed, his limbs about as functional as wet noodles. He turns onto his side to keep his jizz-smeared belly from touching the sheets.

"Yeah, I guess you are." Jesse's eyes are too wide and too blue for Saul to handle right now. His gaze flits across Saul's face before he pushes off of the bed and pads into the bathroom. Saul worries that he's done something wrong, said something stupid to make Jesse regret the whole thing. It wouldn't be the first time, but it matters because it's  _Jesse_. Orgasms have already demolished their friendship. Here on this shaky ground, anything could go abysmally wrong.

Saul's clothes lay in a pile on the floor. He finds his boxers and pulls them on, his legs still rubbery. He strains to listen for the sound of a shower running or the flush of a toilet, something to clue him in to why Jesse ran off like Saul proposed marriage.

After a nerve-racking thirty seconds or so, Jesse emerges from the bathroom. His stomach's sort of shiny and clean, and—oh. That explains so much. Saul chuckles to himself, amazed at the heights of his own paranoia. Jesse quirks a brow with a hint of a smile on his lips. "Cool boxers."

Saul's got no idea why Jesse thinks boring old plaid is cool, unless he's being sarcastic, which he probably is, and—

Oh fuck.

Saul glances down and sees black with blue flames, and, goddammit, he grabbed the wrong underwear.

Yeah, it's probably time for Saul to die now.

He drags a hand over his face, mortified. "I didn't even notice." He slips his thumbs underneath the elastic. "I'm sorry, I'll just—"

"No! They look dope." Jesse grins and sits beside him, stilling Saul's hands by laying his own over them. Saul wonders if the sight of him in Jesse's clothes is as glorious as the reverse would be. Probably not.

Saul is so fucking grateful Jesse got drunk tonight. None of this would have happened if Jesse were sober. The thought makes him sad, so he shakes it off with a joke. "Told you the charm works."

It takes Jesse a moment, then he gasps, "No way," his mouth open in surprise. "Were you—were you seriously workin' me?" He laughs. "I kinda feel like a slut."

"Don't beat yourself up over it, kid. You didn't stand a chance."

"Why me?" Jesse asks, tugging the sheets over his legs, suddenly self-conscious of his nudity. "I mean, if you're so smooth, you could'a got anyone you wanted, right?"

The answer's right there in Jesse's question, but he doesn't hear it. "I enjoy a challenge," Saul says instead.

Jesse smiles and looks away, a tinge of blush under his cheeks. When their eyes meet again, he fixes Saul with that wide-eyed, open look. "Is it—is it weird that I wanna sleep with you? Like, literally?"

Saul's tempted to make a joke out of that too, something like, "Now  _that's_  the gayest thing I've ever done." But when Jesse looks at him like this, he has no idea how to deal with it other than be honest. "No, it's not weird."

"Can I?" Jesse rubs the back of his neck, his go-to "I'm uncomfortable" gesture.

"Go ahead."

Jesse climbs under the blankets, tentative like Saul might change his mind. He wraps himself up like a burrito and turns so his back's facing Saul. Saul wants to kiss the curve of his neck, but since they're no longer a tangle of sweaty nudity that kind of intimacy might be uncalled for. So Saul settles in and enjoys the moment while it lasts.


	2. Chapter 2

Jesse wakes up naked and alone in Saul's bed. The glow of morning seeps into the room, bright and unfettered from the floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room. He's got a bit of a headache, but it's nothing a couple Tylenol can't fix.

He breathes in the scent of crisp, clean sheets. Last night comes back to him in flashes of skin and sighs and strong hands on his hips. Jesse had sex with Saul.  _Saul Goodman_. The dorky, pain-in-the-ass, fast-talking sleazy lawyer. He's ready for the hangover of regret to hit him and remind him of the boozed-up mistake he made.

But it doesn't come. Jesse doesn't regret last night, not really. He wonders what they're going to do now. Will they have some awkward conversation about it or pretend it never happened? He also wonders if it might happen again. Jesse can't get enough of how Saul's hands felt on his skin, the way Saul gasped Jesse's name in orgasm. Saul's only ever called him "kid" or "Pinkman." This was new, exciting, erotic.

But Jesse knows it only happened because they'd been drinking. Had Saul been sober, he wouldn't have watched Jesse with hungry eyes of his own. Today is gonna be awkward as fuck.

Jesse sits up and looks around the room for his clothes. His boxers are slung over the bench at the foot of the bed, along with his shirt, jacket, and tie. He pulls his underwear on, noting the sickly-sweet ache in the back of his thighs that reminds him exactly what he did last night. He finds a plush robe in the bathroom and wraps himself in it, cinches the tie around his hips.

Now or never. He can't stay locked in here all weekend.

Jesse gathers his nerve and makes his way down the stairs. Saul's sitting on the couch, his legs propped up on the coffee table. The TV's on, and there's a plate of food in his lap. Jesse tries to keep his footsteps quiet, but one of the stairs creaks under his weight.

Saul turns his head and sees Jesse there. "Mornin', Sleeping Beauty."

Jesse's blood heats up under his skin. The words feel like they means something more now that Saul's seen him naked. "You got food?" Jesse says, feigning nonchalance.

"Yeah, yours is on the table. It should still be warm." Jesse finds the platter full of pancakes, scrambled eggs, hash browns and sausage links. "Coffee's ready too, if you drink it."

"Thanks." Jesse brews himself a cup, pours in some creamer. He pulls out a chair and sits at the table, unsure if he's wanted any closer to Saul. Because Saul's seen him naked, and that is the total opposite of normal. He eats his breakfast in silence, occasionally glancing up at the TV screen. A familiar song gives him pause. "Dude, is that  _Rocky Horror_?"

Saul looks over at him in surprise. "You've seen it?"

Jesse laughs, because there's no way Saul could possibly be this cool. "Yeah. I can't believe you have though."

"When I was in high school, my friends and I would go to those midnight screenings where everybody dressed up as the characters. It was a whole 'audience participation' thing."

Jesse snorts a laugh. "That's the nerdiest fucking thing I've ever heard." He's actually kind of impressed; he never thought he'd meet someone who out-nerded Badger.

"It was the late seventies," Saul says, as if that explains everything. And maybe it does. "Everything was flamboyant and ridiculous."

It seems like they've found their balance again, trading casual conversation with ease. Things have changed between them, sure, but Jesse doesn't have to act like everything's gone wrong and weird. He takes his breakfast over to the couch and sits beside Saul, balancing his plate in his own lap. "Man, it's been forever since I've seen this. Did Meat Loaf show up yet?"

"Oh yeah, he's already dead."

"Damn."

"It's almost over. Which is good for me, because this is one of the few movies I'll watch to completion any time it's on. I can't turn away; it's a sickness."

"I never would'a imagined in, like, a million years you'd be into this kind of stuff," Jesse says, his mouth full. "What other crazy shit you keepin' from me?"

Saul looks at Jesse and arches an eyebrow. "You'll just have to find out, won't you, kid?" It sounds like flirtation, an invitation to something more, but Jesse doesn't want to disturb the equilibrium they've got going here. So he just settles in and eats his pancakes while they watch the rest of the movie.

Every so often Saul will look over at Jesse and smirk to himself, like he's running through jokes in his head. Jesse has no idea what the hell that's about. He wants to ask what Saul's deal is, but maybe the dude's just smug over getting Jesse in bed. If it was as good for Saul as it was for Jesse, Saul's got every right to be smug.

It's so tragically unfair that the best sex Jesse's ever had was with Saul Goodman. Fuck Jesse's life sideways.

After breakfast, Jesse steals his clothes back while Saul's in the shower. He thinks he ought to do the same. A shower might be good for him. A cleansing of sorts, washing off all the weirdness and starting over. It's totally metaphorical and shit, yo.

He makes his way into his bathroom and turns on the shower. The stall is big enough to hold a small party. Jesse steps under the hot spray, lets his body unwind and untense like a screw being loosened. He figures they're taking the "never speak of this again" route for their, uh, sexcapade. Saul hasn't mentioned it or flirted with him—at least not more than usual, so Jesse stomps out his curiosity like a brushfire. In the end, Saul's just Jesse's lawyer—maybe a budding friend—barring one exceptional circumstance where they pretended to be so much more. Just get past this, have fun, and spend money. That's the point, right?

Once Jesse wipes the steam off the mirror, he realizes ignoring this little fling won't be as easy as it sounds. Three reddish-violet splotches have bloomed on his neck, his chest, and his collarbone.  _Hickeys_.

Heat floods through Jesse when he remembers how Saul glanced over at him and smirked this morning. That smooth son of a bitch. Admiring his handiwork.

Jesse doesn't own any turtlenecks, and popped collars stopped being cool in the eighties, so he's shit out of luck here. Of course, there's plenty of shops in the hotel where he could pick up some foundation to match his skin tone, but he's not sure he wants to play it that way. Covering the marks might give Saul the impression Jesse thinks last night was a terrible, drunken memory he wants to repress.

Despite Jesse's irrational paranoia, he knows no one who sees the marks would give them a second thought. It's not as if everyone in the vicinity would know exactly who sucked kisses into his neck. People get lucky in Vegas all the time. Who gives a shit?

So Jesse just towels off and throws on a t-shirt and jeans, because this isn't a date and Saul doesn't care how he looks.

God, a single one-night stand and Jesse turns into a teenage girl. This can't be healthy. At least it's an improvement over the stress of working with Mr. White in the Vamonos lab. Thank Christ he doesn't have to do that shit anymore.

"So, what's the plan for today?" Jesse asks when they're heading to the elevators. "You wanna hit the casino again? You do slots, I do craps?"

Saul grins. "I love it when you say 'craps.'"

"Would it kill you to be serious for once?" Jesse asks, fighting a smile.

"I don't know; I've never tried." Saul opens the elevator for him and presses the button for the ground floor. Jesse gives him a perplexed look. "I thought we'd take a look around town. There's a great big city out there—might as well see it while we're here."

"You've already seen it," Jesse reminds him.

"But you haven't. I'm your tour guide, remember?" He pats Jesse's shoulder as the elevator door opens. Jesse feels a rush at the touch and doesn't even know why. "Y'know, there's an amusement park and carnival not too far from here," Saul says, walking through the lobby. "You're not afraid of roller coasters, are you?"

"Uh..."

Jesse hesitates a second too long, because Saul looks at him in disbelief. "You are?" He chuckles like Jesse's just told him the world's most hilarious joke. "So you're afraid of ghosts and roller coasters?"

Jesse would love to meet one person who doesn't bust his balls when they find out this particular fact. "Yeah, I'm full of surprises," he grumbles.

"Well, hey, they got other stuff too—laser tag, bumper cars, miniature golf—"

"They got Putt-Putt? Hell yeah!"

"Are you any good?"

"No, but it's fun, yo." Jesse's not mentioning that he's deadly with a putter. Saul's gonna have to find out for himself—and maybe dodge a few stray golf balls.

"I'll wipe the floor with you. At the risk of being immodest, I'm not too bad a golfer."

They get outside and wait for the valet to bring the car around. "Golf is such an old dude's sport though. I could totally see Mike bein' into that."

"We might've played a few rounds," Saul admits in a low voice, like he's ashamed Mike lives up to Jesse's stereotype.

"I fuckin' knew it. Did he wear all those bright-ass colors that're part of the golfer dress code?" Jesse can't picture Mike Ehrmantraut in neon orange or yellow or wearing plaid anything. He just  _can't_.

"Hey, stray golf carts are the number one cause of golfer injury in the US," Saul says with a completely straight face.

"Bullshit," Jesse laughs.

"You gotta dress to be seen."

"Totally not a problem for you, huh?" Jesse says, staring out ahead. He can see the Hooters casino and the Tropicana in the distance.

"I think I'm impressively understated today," Saul protests. He tugs at the edge of his t-shirt for emphasis. It's true; he's not wearing anything loud or flashy or expensive. He looks like someone's Cool Dad. Someone's Cool  _Hot_  Dad with really nice forearms that Jesse's doing his best not to notice.

The drive ends up taking longer than Jesse thought it would. He doesn't mind, because he gets to gawk at the passing scenery. The sights and sounds on the way into Vegas were just the tip of the iceberg. Inside the city, each building is more magnificent and grandiose than the last. The Paris hotel looks like an antique French manor. An Eiffel Tower replica bursts from the middle like a genetic mutation. Caesar's Palace sprawls to the left, with a dome that looks like a Roman colosseum. Thick clusters of palm trees line each side of the road. They pass by the Mirage and the Italian brickwork of the Palazzo. Scaffoldings and construction equipment are present on either side of the road, because there's always room for more, apparently.

The aptly-named Adventuredome is located on the property of the Circus Circus hotel. Jesse wants to hold Saul's hand as they walk through the giant pink dome filled with rides and games, but he'd rather not risk it when Saul could knock him senseless with the putter.

"I guess this isn't the best time to tell you I have a three handicap in golf," Saul says, sizing up the first hole.

"You want me to go easy on you?"

Saul laughs, a warm, rich sound that Jesse wants to wrap himself in. "If you would. Actually, kid, why don't you go first?" He steps aside and lets Jesse take the first swing.

It's been a while since Jesse's played. The ball goes flying, bounces off the divider, and rolls back to Jesse's feet before stopping when it hits his shoe.

"That was amazing," Saul says, with reverence.

"Shut up. I'm just rusty." Jesse lines up the shot again and tries tapping it this time. The ball hits a forty-five degree angle and glides toward the hole. It stops just short of its intended destination. Jesse grunts a frustrated noise under his breath.

"It's like watching a master at work."

"Shut up, Mr. Handicap," Jesse grunts, finally knocking the ball in after three strokes.

Saul grins, all warmth and perfect teeth. "You know nothing about golf, do you?"

"I know enough," Jesse bites back. "But that Wimbledon shit bores me to death."

"Wimbledon is for tennis."

Jesse rolls his eyes. "I'm gonna hit you with this and make it look like an accident." He jabs the putter in Saul's direction.

Saul places his ball down and lines up his shot. "I'd really like to see you try."

"I will. I got a mean backswing, yo." Jesse watches in horror as Saul taps the ball and sends it bouncing off the divider and into the hole. The exact strategy Jesse had planned before his own ball decided to go rogue. "Everybody gets lucky once, right?" he jokes before hearing the implications there.

 _Shit. Fuck. Crap._  Jesse wonders if his face is as red as it feels.

Saul just smirks and says, "Don't I know it?"

It takes a couple hole-in-ones for Jesse to realize Saul isn't relying on luck so much as actual skill. He's pretty damn good at this, which is dealing serious damage to Jesse's self-esteem. He wants to impress Saul, but that's hard to do when you're losing golf balls to the pond and taking out your own kneecaps. What makes this public humiliation even worse is Saul's not even attempting to hide his laughter. Dick. Jesse hates him and his stupid, attractive, weird face.

"I thought you said you suck at this game," Jesse snaps after Saul lands another hole-in-one.

Saul retrieves both balls from the cup. "I said I have a three handicap."

Jesse throws his arms out like he doesn't understand. "Yeah?"

"Kid, in golf, a handicap doesn't mean you suck." Saul tosses Jesse's ball to him, and he fumbles with the catch. "Hitting the ball so hard it ricochets and hits you in the knee means you suck."

"Like you've never done that," Jesse snaps. Saul's teasing winds Jesse up, which is good. This is the form of their relationship Jesse knows how to be a part of. The one where they're naked and raw and desperate is a hell of a lot more confusing.

"Can't say I have. Though I'm sure I hit  _other_  people the last time I played miniature golf."

"See?" Jesse sticks his tongue out.

"Of course, I was ten at the time."

Saul ends up winning, which comes as a surprise to no one. Jesse doesn't mind too much. Saul's smug as hell when he wins, which makes him impossibly more attractive. But Jesse gets his revenge by wiping the floor with Saul in the arcade games.

As they're exiting the arcade, Saul takes Jesse's hand and starts leading him somewhere. Jesse's heart pounds a mile a minute. Saul's  _holding his hand_. Something flutters in Jesse's chest. He wonders if Saul's been thinking the same things he has.

Saul slows his pace when they reach the roller coaster viewing area. He peers down into the lower level at the coaster tracks. "You sure you don't wanna ride one?" he asks with a lilt of teasing in his voice.

Jesse watches a coaster car speed through a double loop and feels his stomach turn. "Hell no."

Saul leans against the railing, gives Jesse an amused look. "What's your horror story? You get stuck on one when you were a kid and swear off all roller coasters forever?"

"No, I just like being alive." Jesse risks another glance at the ride as it rockets through two corkscrews.

"You've been on them before and didn't die, right?" Jesse doesn't answer, and Saul's eyebrows soar. "Oh my God, you've never been on a roller coaster."

Jesse rubs the back of his neck. He hadn't realized how many life experiences he's missed out on until he met Saul.

"How is that even possible?" Saul asks, bemused. "You  _were_  a kid at some point, right?"

"I was always too scared," Jesse mumbles. There is so much judging going on right now, he just  _knows_  it. "So my parents never pushed."

"Well, I think it's time you faced your fears, Pinkman." Jesse's knuckles go white as he grips the railing. "I'll go with you, don't worry. You can pick whichever one you want. It'll be fun." Saul doesn't give Jesse time to argue, just takes his hand again and leads him to the lower level stairs. Riding a metal death machine is worth getting to hold Saul's hand.

There's only two rides on the coaster level, but both of them look like complicated, terror-laden ways to die. Jesse picks the least threatening of the two, which isn't saying much. Once they're seated, Saul's practically sprawled out beside him. His hands aren't gripping the safety bar like it's his last hope of survival. Jesse doesn't understand how he can be so relaxed.

"It only goes fifty-five," Saul says while they're waiting for the ride to start. Like that's reassuring somehow. "You probably drive faster than that."

"At least when I'm driving I can actually control the car."

Saul chuckles a soft sound. "You realize these rides are designed to be safe for children?"

"Yeah, they're  _supposed to_  be," Jesse reminds him, because sometimes gruesome accidents happen.

Saul responds with an eyeroll and a tiny smirk at the corner of his mouth.

Throughout the ride, Jesse keeps one hand clenched around the safety bar and the other clasped in Saul's own. Saul doesn't seem to mind, though Jesse catches Saul wincing every time his grip tightens when they go through a loop or corkscrew. Jesse loosens up about halfway through the ride. He's probably not going to die and, hey, this is actually kind of fun. Saul lets Jesse hold his hand like it's the most natural thing in the world.

Jesse really, really wants it to be.

"See, that wasn't so bad," Saul says as they're climbing out of the coaster car. "Look what you've been missing out on."

Jesse can't help the smile that spreads on his lips. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. You were right. You done gloating?"

"I'm just getting started, kid."

They take the stairs back to the main level. Jesse spots a ticket redemption booth filled with various colorful prizes. The glass display case holds paltry winnings: cheap plastic toys and miscellany guaranteed to break before leaving the place. The wall at the back of the booth holds the best prizes: plush animals, character backpacks, dolls and action figures. A giant plush shark crowns the top of the prize booth at a hefty fee of 250 tickets.

"I need that shark," Jesse says with determination. "I've already named him."

"You named him?"

"Yeah, Renaldo. Or Rondo, for short."

Saul snorts a laugh. "Imagine how much less terrifying Jaws would've been if it was named Renaldo." At Jesse's pouty expression, he says, "How're you gonna win 250 tickets?"

Jesse starts heading for the line of midway games. "I dunno, man, but I'm gonna."

"Y'know, not to brag, but I'm pretty good at skee-ball."

"You got a three handicap in that too?"

Saul smirks at him. "Why don't you let me win this one for you, Pinkman?"

They spend an hour and a half in the midway earning tickets for the shark. Jesse learns Saul wasn't full of shit about his skee-ball skills. He's pretty damn good at most of these games, actually. Jesse's gut instinct is to be jealous, but he can't be. Saul is so interesting and peculiar and wonderful. Jesse's learned more about Saul in two days than he's learned about Walt in a year.

Jesse carries his armful of tickets to the counter and exchanges them for Renaldo. He lays Renaldo in the back seat of the Cadillac when they get to the car. Saul's amused half-smile seems permanently etched onto his face.

"What?" Jesse says.

"I didn't say anything."

"You're smiling."

"I can't sing, I can't smile, what  _am_  I allowed to do?"

"You can smile, just not like you're makin' fun of me."

"Trust me, kid, I'm not makin' fun of you," Saul says, and Jesse believes him. He switches on the ignition. "So, you hungry?"

Lunch takes place at a sushi restaurant inside the Venetian hotel. Jesse can barely pronounce half the shit on the menu, so he just orders the steak. From the other side of the table, Saul silently judges Jesse's lack of culinary adventure.

"Let me guess, you've never had sushi either?" Saul asks while they're waiting for the food.

Jesse glares at him. "You're not ropin' me into this one, dude."

"That's what you said about the roller coaster."

"See, I already tried somethin' new today."

"And it ended up being better than you thought, right?"

Jesse sighs and scrubs a hand over his head. "Still not happening."

"I'll wear you down eventually," Saul says, with a smug, self-assured smirk. And judging by how Saul's charm has worked like...well, a charm, Jesse has no doubt he will.

Saul's food arrives first. Jesse finds himself staring at the long platters of sushi with, as Saul had dubbed them, hungry eyes. It doesn't look as gross as he'd thought and, oh shit, is that melted cheese? Jesse's reconsidering everything he thought about sushi right now.

Saul looks up from his plate, chopsticks stalled in mid-air. "Stop looking at my food like you want to screw it and just grab a piece."

Jesse scowls at him but reaches out and jabs a slice of the roll onto his fork. He bites into the piece, chews it over for a bit. It's tangy and sweet and pretty good, and, damn it, Saul's done it again. If he thinks he can just flash a crooked smirk or do that thing with his eyebrows and win Jesse over, he's right, but Jesse won't stop finding it hot and ridiculously manipulative.

"You actually use chopsticks?" Jesse asks as Saul grabs a sushi roll. "You're so pretentious."

"I prefer the term 'cultured.'"

"Yeah, you would. Snob."

"There is nothing snobby about being able to eat Cheetos without withdrawing an orange claw of failure from the bag."

Jesse gives him a judgemental stare. "You seriously eat Cheetos with chopsticks? Holy shit. I'm not sure if that's a life hack or the most pretentious thing I've ever heard."

Saul just reaches over and steals a fry from Jesse's plate.

"You bitch."

While Jesse's cutting into his steak, Saul takes out his phone and taps the screen. "Somebody else you'd rather be talkin' to?" Jesse whines.

"I'm looking for our next stop," Saul says without taking his eyes off the screen. After a moment or two, he chuckles for no apparent reason.

"What? What is it?" Jesse hates being left out.

"I'll show you after lunch," Saul says with a devious smile.

Jesse shakes his head. "You're such an asshole."

"I know you don't mean that, kid. You're smiling."

Of course Jesse's stupid face would betray him. He wipes a hand over his mouth as if doing so might wipe away the smile—it doesn't. "'Course I am. I'm happy."

Saul looks wary, startled, and a little proud of himself. "Yeah?"

"It's like I can just forget about all the bad shit and just enjoy my life, y'know? I wish we could do this forever. Just, like, drive all over and have an adventure. And the company's good too..." Jesse rubs his arm, suddenly shy. He doesn't want to be too honest if it's going to get shoved back in his face. "I mean, you're the only person I could do this with."

Saul smiles like Jesse's said something meaningful. "Yeah, I'm starting to think this trip was a good idea too."

After lunch, they drive to a zombie apocalypse store across the freeway. Jesse thinks this is the coolest thing ever. Saul's getting pretty good at finding things Jesse likes, sometimes without even realizing it. It's like Jesse's had three dates with Saul today, one after the other. He wonders if they could do this—these pseudo-dates and friendly teasing and warm smiles—all of it, forever.

They drive back to the hotel when the sun begins to dip in the sky. Jesse opts to stay in the room for a bit. Saul says he's got business elsewhere and leaves Jesse alone. Jesse's fine with that, because he needs some time to himself. Being around Saul this long has him twisted up.

He lays Renaldo on his bed, because he thinks the shark will make an awesome body pillow. Jesse's a cuddler at heart. He wrapped himself up last night so he wouldn't climb the nearest available body: Saul's. Despite their jizz-smeared encounter, Jesse thinks cuddling would cross a couple boundary lines.

Or maybe not. Clearly their one-night stand hasn't made things awkward between them. They've been getting along great despite seeing each other naked. If Jesse didn't know better, he'd think Saul was flirting with him today: holding his hand, winning Renaldo for him, choosing all their destinations, the constant teasing and soft smiles. Jesse wants to raise the topic of their tryst, but everything's been going so well. He's terrified he'll ruin the friendship they've built here.

Jesse pours himself a glass of wine at the wet bar to shut his brain off for a bit. The wine is light and sweet on his tongue. He gulps it down, because Saul's not here to scold him for that. He's a grown man, and he can chug wine if he wants to, damn it.

He likes the way a glass or two of wine makes his head feel deliciously fuzzy. The lines between bad decisions and brilliant ideas begin to blur. Just the way he'd been last night when he went to bed with Saul. He wonders if Saul was just as intoxicated. Or is fucking Jesse something Saul wants when he's sober too?

Jesse polishes off about a third of a bottle before the glow of the outdoor pool looks irresistible. He hadn't thought to bring a swimsuit, but it's their own private pool. The room's twenty-nine stories up, and the sun's sunken below the horizon. No one will see him if he decides to toss his clothes over the nearest chair and swim nude.

The ever-blurry line of brilliance and idiocy. Thanks, alcohol.

Jesse sinks in the blue-green water, immediately comfortable and weightless. The underwater spotlights make him feel like he's on display. But it's not like anyone could see he's naked in here anyway.

He can barely remember the last time he went swimming. It had to be years ago, a reprieve from the crushing desert heat. Jesse sinks deeper, submerging his entire body underwater. It's pretty awesome down here. He thinks about staying in the water forever, but he doesn't have gills, so his lungs protest that idea and force him to come up for air. Why doesn't he have gills? It's like biology thwarted his decision to abandon the human world and swim with the dolphins forever.

Then a thought pops into his head and makes him laugh, and he doesn't stop until he hears Saul's voice say, "Are the ghosts good comedians?"

Jesse flails and sends water splashing as he whirls around. "Dude, where the fuck did you come from?"

"I asked you first."

Jesse figures Saul must have sneaked in while he was underwater. "I just thought of somethin' funny."

"Are you going to share? I happen to enjoy a good joke."

Jesse decides to just tell him, because he knows it'll make Saul sorry he even asked. "I was thinkin' about swimming with dolphins, and then I remembered that episode of South Park"—fuck, he starts laughing midway through the sentence—"where Kyle's dad got plastic surgery to be a dolphin—" Saul's staring at him like he's a puppy stuck in a box, and Jesse cannot stop laughing now.

"Are you drunk?" Saul asks, barely holding back a smile.

"Maybe, yeah," Jesse says through fading giggles.

Saul's still giving him that weird look. Jesse can't understand why because he's stopped laughing, and—

 _Oh_.

Jesse follows Saul's gaze. The pool lights do nothing to hide the fact that Jesse's skinny-dipping here. Saul opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again. "You're naked."

Jesse can't cover himself, and turning around probably won't help. He wades up to Saul and presses himself against the edge of the pool. His drunk brain spits out this little gem: "What, see somethin' you like?"

Saul blinks over and over, his cheeks going a little pink. "That's gonna make it weird if I jump in there, isn't it?"

"Are you gonna be naked too?"

"Yeah, I didn't really think about swimming when I packed my bags."

Jesse decides to just rip off the band-aid and acknowledge the elephant in the room before it stampedes them to death. "Bein' naked together didn't bother you last night. Why's it matter now?"

Saul sort of gasps, his eyes going wide. Jesse can see his throat bob when he swallows.  _Oh shit, oh fuck._  Panic grips Jesse's heart. He wants to say something to take the words back but doesn't know how. All he can do is watch as Saul mumbles, "Yeah, okay," and stumbles inside the room.

Jesse opens his mouth to say,  _wait, no, please. Don't leave. It was a joke. I thought this clumsy flirtation was something we could do. I know I'm no good at this, not like you are. Let's just pretend I never said that, okay?_  But the words get caught in his throat. Through the windows, he can see Saul climbing the stairs. Jesse has to turn away, because he's lost too many people already. He can't bear to watch someone else walk away.

Jesse wraps his arms around himself like he's cold. He's such an idiot. Of course Saul would balk at the idea of being naked with Jesse again. Last night was just a drunken mistake Saul wants nothing more than to forget. That's why he hasn't mentioned it at all. Saul was ridiculously blunt about wanting to have "mind-blowing, life-altering sex" with Jesse. When he wants something, he makes it known.

Stupid of Jesse to have thought any different.

What's so awful about him that Saul couldn't find even one thing to like? He thought they were getting along great, trading banter, cracking jokes, learning about each other. Jesse even made Saul laugh a few times. How could this have gone so wrong so quickly?

The sound of the balcony door sliding open makes Jesse jump.

"Are you peeing in the pool?" Saul asks with offense.

Jesse feels a starburst of hope explode in his chest. "What? No, dude, that's gross!" he snaps, turning to face Saul. Saul's got a fluffy white towel wrapped around his waist and another slung over his shoulder. He lays one towel near the edge of the pool. Holy shit, Jesse gets to see Saul naked a second time.

Jesse's brain pretty much stops working.

"I'll take your word for it," Saul says, stepping into the water. Jesse's gaze runs over Saul's neck and shoulders and chest and stomach. Then the towel's gone, and Jesse doesn't even have words anymore.

The crisis-center part of his brain reminds him that hiding a boner here will be close to impossible.

"It's warmer than I thought." Saul sighs in contentment, submerged to his waist. Jesse stares at the blurry, rocking water below, like he's a teenager trying to spot a breast through a scrambled cable channel feed.

"Yeah," Jesse says. Mr. Conversation. He wades closer, and the simple movement feels like he's risking everything.

Saul watches him with interest. "Your eyes are red."

Jesse rubs his palms over them, as if that might help. "Chlorine stings like a bitch."

Saul does that pinching thing with his mouth where he looks like he wants to argue. He stares out at the blinking city lights instead. Jesse decides to take another risk, because the first time turned out pretty well.

Jesse breathes in the crisp sting of chlorine and chemicals. He imagines the air is courage filling his lungs. "So, um, we should probably talk about last night..."

He thinks he sees a glint of panic in Saul's eyes. "Oh yeah? You wanna file a complaint?"

"Actually," Jesse starts, wading closer, "I thought maybe we could, y'know, keep going? I mean, you had fun, right? Why's it gotta be just a one-time thing? We're in Vegas, yo. Live it up or whatever."

Saul gives him a curious eyebrow lift but says nothing else. His lips are parted like he wants to say something. All Jesse can think about right now is kissing him. He looks away, his gaze snagging on how Saul's shoulders strain from the water. "You—you don't have to," Jesse continues, interpreting Saul's silence as rejection. "I just thought it'd be somethin' else fun we could do. Was it—Was I okay?"

"You were there, kid. What'd'you think?"

His gut says Saul had a damn good time, but he's not totally sure. "It was good, right?"

"A bit of an understatement, but, yeah, 'good' works." Saul smirks, and Jesse turns to jelly. He lays a hand along the small of Jesse's back, drawing him nearer. "I'm absolutely okay with continuing this, but it's gotta be something you want too. Don't let me use you."

When was the last time someone asked Jesse what he wanted? Jesse wets his lips. "What if I wanna be used? I mean, I know you won't—You're not—Can we just..." He huffs a laugh of frustration. "God, this was so much easier when you did it."

Saul lays his other hand over the slope of Jesse's neck and moves in, pressing his mouth against Jesse's own. Jesse doesn't think about pushing him away, not for a second. He doesn't know why Saul's kissing him when they never crossed that line before. But he's not stopping to find out. Saul's mouth is softer than Jesse thought it would be, but there's an urgency there, like he's trying to catch up to something. He tastes like liquor and warmth and acceptance and home.

Jesse lifts his shaking arms and wraps them around Saul's neck. Saul curls his hand around Jesse's hip, the other holding Jesse's face like he's made of porcelain. Jesse shivers at the touch, and Saul nips at his bottom lip before claiming his mouth. Saul licks his way in, tastes him with a flick of tongue before kissing him harder, fiercer. This is definitely the gayest thing Jesse's ever done, and he doesn't even care. He wants to kiss Saul all the time, wants this to be something they can just do without asking.

Jesse trails a hand over Saul's chest, exploring the wet skin on flagrant display. He learns Saul kisses a little harder when his fingers brush over nipples, when he squeezes the sensitive nubs, when he trails his index finger down the length of Saul's torso. Jesse follows the curve of Saul's hip, smooths his hand down his thigh. Saul hums a needy sound and crushes their mouths together. His hips push forward in the water.

Jesse's hand finds the jut of Saul's dick, and he wraps his fingers around it. Saul moans, rumbling and appreciative, before his mouth moves to suck under the arc of Jesse's jaw. Jesse tilts his head back, feels Saul's breath hot at his ear. His hand twists and squeezes with gentle pressure, enough to make Saul groan and shove into the stroke. It's been a while since Saul's been touched like this. Jesse will have bruises where Saul's fingers dig in around his hip, and tell-tale splotches from Saul's kisses.

"Jesse, Jesse," Saul pants into the hollow of Jesse's throat. His shoulders twitch as Jesse works him faster. Saul clutches at Jesse's back with his free hand. He bucks his hips into Jesse's fist, jostling the water between them. Jesse smothers Saul's moans with his mouth, kissing the words out of him. He feels five blazes in trails over the top of his thigh, edging toward his dick. He wants it, craves Saul's ardent touch around his cock, but not now.

Jesse pushes Saul's hand away and slices through the water, closer and closer until Saul's shoulder blades slip against the edge of the pool. "This is just for you," Jesse says, bracing his free hand against the tile and blocking Saul in. As if he would want to escape. Jesse steals another kiss, and Saul's hands shake down Jesse's spine as he lets himself go, swearing and panting Jesse's name against his mouth.

Jesse loosens his fist and teases his fingers over Saul's flagging dick. Saul's shaking from the force of his orgasm, which might be the hottest thing Jesse's seen today. "Well, that was new," Saul breathes out, slumping against the tile.

"You've never gotten a handjob in a pool before?"

"No."

"For real? You seem like the type of dude to have had, like, a hot tub orgy or something."

Saul laughs and drops his head back, exposing the curve of his throat. "My sex life isn't that exciting."

"It could be," Jesse hints, tentative, because he's pretty agreeable after sex. Maybe Saul is too. "I mean, if you want."

Saul smiles and tugs Jesse closer so he can kiss him. Jesse smiles despite himself. "I'm in full support of doing this all weekend. You're a lot of fun in the sack... and the pool."

Jesse chuckles. "Gotta be good at somethin', right?"

"That's the spirit," Saul says with a smirk. He runs a hand down the length of Jesse's thigh. "Is it your turn yet? 'Cause I've been thinking about this all night."

Jesse's heart leaps in his chest. "You've been thinkin' about jerkin' me off all night?"

"Not exactly." Saul gets his arms around Jesse's waist, guides him so he's backed up against the tile. Then he's attempting to lift Jesse, and, wow, Jesse's a little embarrassed for him. Jesse gives Saul some help by using his arms as leverage on the edge of the pool and hoisting himself up. He sits on the soft, fuzzy towel Saul laid there earlier, his legs dangling in the water. Saul moves closer and nudges Jesse's knees apart. Then there's a hand sliding up his thigh and catching around the length of his cock, and, holy motherfucking shit, that's his  _mouth_.

Jesse moans embarrassingly loud into the night. He doesn't even care, because his dick's bumping against the back of Saul's throat. Saul's sucking him off like a total pro. He's done this before, Jesse realizes, and he's got no idea why that turns him on so much. Jesse shakes out a breath and leans back, catches himself with his arms and just  _watches_. Saul's mouth glides over him, lips and tongue working in a way that pulls Jesse's nerves too tight.

Saul moans around him, and Jesse cries out, his hands fisting in the towel. Saul's better at this than most of the women he's been with, and,  _fuck_ , why is that so hot? There are no words for how Saul looks here, water cascading down his shoulders, his hands pushing thighs apart, and Jesse's dick in his mouth. Jesse can't look away.

"Saul, oh God," he chokes out, the air falling out of him when Saul hums around his dick. Jesse sucks a breath through his teeth and feels himself falling. "Oh fuck, oh shit, please, you gotta—" He lifts his hips, as if there's more for Saul to take in. Saul moves to let him, mouth stretched open as his lips work around the hilt. Jesse hears himself saying Saul's name, more than once, in a helpless moan as it all shakes out of him. Saul doesn't gag or cough, just swallows around him, and Jesse's totally fucking  _gone_.

Jesse shakes and gasps his way back into the stratosphere. Saul's mouth is wet and soft when he lets Jesse slip free. Sex with Saul is pretty much the best across the board. That's so unfair Jesse doesn't even know where to start.

"Jesus," Jesse breathes out when his lungs stop spasming. His hands go loose, his arms turned to jelly. He pulls himself to a sit and threads his fingers through Saul's hair. Saul's sucking kisses into Jesse's inner thighs, which is absolutely going to leave a mark.

Jesse wonders if he could return the favor, if he'd be any good. He's considered it before, had fleeting thoughts of sucking Saul off underneath his desk. Saul's got Jesse's sexuality tied into a confusing pretzel he can't even begin to understand.

Saul climbs out of the pool, dripping water. Jesse hands him a towel and watches Saul's torso disappear under a veil of fluffy white. "I'm goin' inside," Saul says. "You comin'?"

 _Too easy_. Jesse pulls himself up using the railing, stands on shaky legs in the chill of the air. He wraps himself in the extra towel and follows Saul inside the room. Jesse feels the water freeze over his skin. He stumbles over his clothes in a pile on the floor, because he's hyper-aware of Saul's half-naked body. He rights himself before face-planting into the carpet. Saul's completely unaware of this, which Jesse thinks is for the best.

Saul's heading up the stairs when he says, "You should probably get a shower, kid. Depending on how fancy the restaurant is, they might not let you in if you smell like a swimming pool."

Jesse completely forgot about dinner. His brain's on hiatus after getting the best blowjob of his life and seeing Saul wet and naked. "Oh—yeah, okay. Good idea." He reaches the top of the stairs and moves for his bedroom.

"Where are you going?"

Jesse looks over his shoulder at Saul, who's staring at him with those questioning eyebrows. "The—the shower's in there," Jesse says, pointing into the bedroom.

Saul breathes out a sigh, like Jesse's missed the point entirely. "You  _cannot_  take a hint, can you?"

Jesse makes a choked little huff of air. Saul can't seriously want them to shower together. They've had sex—Saul's sucked his cock, even—but this still feels like something they're not supposed to do. Something too intimate for whatever they are.

Saul rolls his eyes and takes Jesse's hand. "C'mon, kid." He leads Jesse to his bedroom and into the enormous, glistening bathroom. He turns on the shower. There's no point in being modest—the glass doors hide nothing—but Jesse still holds his towel tight around his hips.

Saul's abandoned modesty somewhere on the interstate, because he drops his towel and steps under the spray. A sound squeaks out from somewhere in Jesse's throat. Wow, that's a lot of Saul to look at. The pool obscured everything below the waist, and Jesse only caught a glimpse of Saul's ass before it disappeared under a fluffy towel. Now, there's nothing to hide his skin away, and Jesse can see that Saul's ass is fucking perfect.

Staring at his naked body in stunned silence is probably a bad start.

Jesse lets his towel fall around his ankles and joins Saul under the water. He slides the door shut, thinking if he focuses on something mundane he'll forget that he's naked in the shower with Saul. There's no forgetting.

There's a lot of touching and kissing, though. Jesse finds that he likes it when Saul pushes his back against the tile and claims his mouth. He likes Saul's strong, wide hands wrapped around his hips, his thighs, settled on either side of his face. He likes the way Saul sucks kisses over his throat and his shoulders. They both like when Saul gets Jesse's thigh between his legs and grinds into it. And Jesse's not exactly grossed out when Saul comes over his thigh.

Jesse wonders what Saul tastes like. Before Jesse can gather stripes of Saul's orgasm on his fingertips, Saul's kissing his mouth, deep and hungry. Jesse doesn't know what it means that Saul wants to kiss him after sex, just that he doesn't want it to stop.

Dinner requires them to dress up again, which Jesse doesn't mind, because Saul looks fine as hell in a suit. They dine at the Bellagio, at an outdoor table with a mesmerizing view of the Fountains. But Jesse's focused on Saul's adorable baby smile—too smug to be a smile, but not cocky enough for a smirk. It's like Saul didn't think they'd ever do this again.

"So since tomorrow's our last day here," Jesse's saying, "I think we should go big, y'know? Hit the high roller tables and blow some of this money, yo."

The baby smile disappears, replaced with a look of concern for Jesse's well-being. "Kid, you're not gonna lose five million in Vegas without drawing a lot of unwanted attention. I know you weren't too crazy about it the first time, but remember that sweet deal I showed you with all the pedicures and happy-ending massages you want? Maybe it's time to reconsider."

"I ain't buyin' no damn nail salon."

"How about laser tag? Is that more up your alley?"

Jesse sips at his wine, sighs over the rim of the glass. "What if I just... gave it away?"

"Pretty sure that would cause more problems than it would solve."

"Not if I gave it to someone I trust. Someone who wouldn't be an idiot about it," Jesse says, giving Saul a pointed look.

Saul blinks once, twice in realization. "Me?"

"No shit, you."

Saul sits up a little straighter, doesn't take his eyes off of Jesse. "You're just gonna  _give_  me close to five million dollars?" he whispers across the table.

"You got that secret safe, right?"

"It's not that secret if you know about it," Saul grumbles, but he doesn't say no.

"Just think of it as a rainy-day fund."

Saul breathes out a deep sigh. "Kid, I don't want your money." He sounds like he wants to say more, but doesn't.

Jesse leans back in his chair and shrugs. "It was worth a shot, right?"

The baby smile is back. "For what it's worth, you never know what's gonna happen. I would hold onto some of it. Just in case."

Jesse's always thought he might have to escape from Walt someday. Get a whole new identity and start fresh somewhere far away. Best to keep some money stashed for emergencies.

Jesse stares out at the dancing water. The wine's making his head a little fuzzy and light, which is good. It'll be easier for him to flirt with Saul and not overthink things. He takes another drink to speed up the process.

They stumble back to their room, mildly intoxicated. Saul keeps a hand on Jesse's lower back through the elevator ride. Jesse wants to touch him but doesn't know where to put his hands. The elevator dings, and Saul guides him out, shows him to the room as if Jesse doesn't know. But he got lost last time, so maybe Saul has a point.

Saul slinks his arm around Jesse's hips when they get to the door. Jesse's stomach flips, his heart thrumming in his chest. Saul's gazing at Jesse in a way that's impossible not to melt under. Jesse can't help the smile that spreads on his mouth, because Saul's mirth is contagious.

"I wanna kiss you," Saul murmurs, leaning in like he knows he doesn't have to ask permission.

Jesse wets his lips. "So do it."

Saul's awesome at taking directions. He presses his mouth over Jesse's own. Jesse's knees wobble, his legs turned to jelly from the force of the kiss. Saul holds him upright with a firm arm around his waist. Jesse winds his fingers into Saul's hair, tilts his head so he can kiss Saul back. He can feel Saul's lips curving into a smile, like he's pleased at how Jesse responds to him. Saul's other hand pushes underneath Jesse's blazer. The heat of his palm makes Jesse wriggle under the touch.

They're kissing in an empty, dimly-lit hotel hallway, and everything about this is perfect. Jesse gets his hands full of Saul's blazer and tugs him closer. Saul lays kisses over the skin beneath Jesse's shirt collar. Jesse's a little embarrassed by the moan he makes at that, but Saul chuckles a soft, friendly sound, and Jesse's chagrin melts away. He tips his head back, shudders when Saul licks at his Adam's apple. Jesse's hard already, because he's kissing the person he's most attracted to in the world. Saul presses closer, and Jesse's certain he can feel the way his body responds to that.

"We—we should go inside," Jesse says, catching his breath. He tries to keep his voice from shaking around the words and fails miserably.

Saul finds the key card and finagles the door open. He keeps an arm wrapped around Jesse's waist and maneuvers them inside. They lose their clothes on the way to the second floor, stripping layers off each other as they make it up the stairs. Jesse guides Saul into his bedroom, because tonight they're doing this his way. He coaxes Saul onto the mattress, and Saul lets Jesse climb on top of him and kiss his mouth.

"Can I do something for you?" Jesse asks when their mouths are their own again.

"You can do whatever you want, kid." Saul pushes himself up on his elbows to watch Jesse tug his boxers down his legs. Jesse kneels at the foot of the bed, nudges Saul's naked thighs apart. Saul makes a choked noise in his throat when Jesse wraps a hand around his dick. Jesse isn't sure he'll be any good at this. But Saul did this for him, and he wants to give something back after just taking and taking.

Jesse opens his mouth around the swollen head of Saul's cock, and he hears Saul swallow back a groan. He sucks and licks, and Saul digs his fingers in the sheets. Jesse takes him in as far as he can, which isn't much, but that's something he can learn. Saul doesn't seem to mind his unpracticed technique. He's moaning and breathing hard and panting Jesse's name. He slides a hand over the back of Jesse's shoulder, over the tattoo between his shoulder blades. Jesse licks down the length of Saul's dick, feels a bulging vein twitch under his tongue.

A deep ache roars to life in his lower belly at the sound of Saul's moans. His own erection grows and pulses, blood throbbing through his dick. Saul's got his eyes closed, his lower lip tucked between his teeth, and Jesse  _has_  to reach down and curl a hand around himself. He strokes and squeezes, humming moans around Saul's cock. He watches Saul's face, obsessed with how he responds to Jesse's virgin mouth.

Saul opens his eyes and sees Jesse's fist working between his legs. "You're gettin' off on this too, huh?" he breathes, awed.

Jesse pauses, his hand stilled, because maybe he's not supposed to enjoy this. "You don't have to stop, kid," Saul huffs out, his chest heaving with a breath. "It's okay."

Jesse swallows him a little deeper as his hand starts to move again. Saul makes a choked-off noise and whispers, "Jesse..." Jesse watches him, unable to tear his gaze away. He loves the way his name sounds from Saul's mouth. He hears it again, and again, and again, then Saul's tipping his head back and his body's shaking under Jesse's lips. He feels the drag of Saul's fingers over his back, then Jesse tastes him, thick and hot and bitter. Jesse comes over his hand, a blinding white supernova behind his eyes, and he works his dick in his fist while he swallows Saul's orgasm.

It takes them a minute for the shock and pulse of ecstasy to die down. Jesse's still touching himself, sucking lazily at the softening head of Saul's cock. "Jesus, Pinkman," Saul says through a sigh. He wraps his hand around the back of Jesse's neck and runs his fingers over the bristle there. Jesse doesn't look away, couldn't even if he wanted to; Saul's eyes are captivating. "You're gonna kill me..."

Jesse lets Saul slip out of his mouth. He runs his tongue over his lower lip to catch a stray string of cum there. "Hope not. I dunno how to get back to ABQ."

Saul laughs, and Jesse cherishes the sound. Jesse staggers to his feet and stumbles to the bathroom on rubbery legs. He rinses the evidence of his orgasm from his hands, embarrassed Saul had seen that. He thinks that's a little more than Saul bargained for, more than what they're doing here is supposed to mean. But Jesse can't ignore the way his stomach knots and twists when Saul looks at him.

He might be falling a little in love with Saul, and isn't that a terrifying thought?

When Jesse steps out of the bathroom, Saul's walking into the bedroom, his boxers slung low on his hips. Jesse finds his mouth's gone dry. Why the hell is he so attracted to Saul's body? There's just something about him that's perfectly imperfect, something real and flawed that Jesse wants all to himself.

Jesse digs a pair of underwear out of his bag and pulls them over his hips. He finds the remote on the night table, switches on the television. "You wanna stay?"

Saul smiles. "Sure."

Jesse crawls under the covers, turning onto his side and cuddling into Renaldo. Saul slips in alongside him, so close that Jesse can feel the heat of him against his back. Jesse's ignoring that so hard his brain might explode. He distracts himself by flipping channels until he finds some old  _Simpsons_  reruns. Saul just breathes over the back of Jesse's neck, making his skin tighten.

They lie there together in quiet comfort. Every now and then Jesse feels Saul huff laughter over his skin or press kisses to the freckles on his back. Jesse vaguely remembers the heat of Saul pressed against him, the solid press of limbs over his body, when his eyelids grow bleary and heavy.

* * *

Saul wakes in the middle of the night to Jesse whimpering soft, piteous sounds. This is the second time it's happened. Jesse doesn't seem to remember it or even know he does it. Saul can't see Jesse's face, but he's sure it's creased with worry. Jesse hugs his plush shark tighter and moans a distressed sound.

Saul sits up, careful not to disturb Jesse, and smooths a hand over the curve of his shoulder. His fingers find the dip of Jesse's neck, feels the thrum of his pulse. Saul breaks Jesse's "no singing" rule, because it worked the night before, and what Jesse doesn't know won't hurt him. He sings, soft and smooth, the words slow in his throat as he strokes gentle circles over Jesse's back tattoo. Jesse's breathing evens out, his whimpers ceasing. Saul's touch lingers on his skin, brushing along the curve of his jaw, the line of his throat. He feels the tension leave Jesse's body and watches him fall into a deep, calmer sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Saul's already got breakfast on the table when Jesse comes downstairs. Jesse's wearing a t-shirt that could double as a poncho, and the colorful boxers he'd pulled on last night. Saul tries not to stare at Jesse's bare legs, but he's only human. Jesse's humming a very familiar tune, and Saul can't help but smile to himself as Jesse approaches the table.

"How'd you sleep?" Saul asks.

Jesse makes a noise that tells Saul nothing. He lifts his gaze from the platter of food on the table and meets Saul's eyes, then an adorable smile forms on his mouth. "Your hair looks stupid." He reaches out and smooths a hand through Saul's tousled hair.

Saul's cheeks flood with pink. "Is it better?"

"I can't tell. You still look like a dork," Jesse says, a smirk at the corner of his lips. He sits across from Saul and starts on his breakfast. Saul looks at the red blotches on Jesse's throat, takes pride in knowing his mouth made them.

"Did you have plans for today?"

Jesse shakes his head. "Nope. I'm all yours."

Electricity crackles in Saul's veins. He wants to spend the day pressing Jesse into satin sheets and coaxing him to orgasm, but he promised to be Jesse's tour guide. Better to give Jesse an experience he won't look back on in confusion.

After breakfast, Saul takes Jesse to the shark reef at the Mandalay Bay. "This is 'cause I had you win me that shark yesterday, isn't it?" Jesse asks, snapping pictures as they walk through the long tunnel aquarium.

Sometimes Saul wishes he weren't so easy to read, but that would make his dating life much more difficult. "And you mentioned something about dolphins last night while you were drunk."

Jesse snorts a laugh. "Oh my God." His face is lit up by the reflection of cerulean blue water against the glass. He looks like an underwater angel. "Why do you remember that?"

"I remember everything about last night," Saul murmurs, moving closer.

Jesse lowers his phone and looks at Saul, his cheeks rosy and his mouth pulled into a shy smile. "Oh yeah?"

Saul nods, cups a hand around the side of Jesse's face. Jesse's breath shudders out from his lips in a whisper. "What about you? Do you remember having a nightmare?"

Jesse stiffens. "What?"

"You have nightmares, don't you? That's why you have trouble sleeping."

"How do you know that?" Jesse gasps. "Did I—did I wake you up?"

A turtle floats by in the water and lingers there, like he's eavesdropping on their conversation.

Saul shrugs. "I'm a light sleeper." He can't resist teasing Jesse a bit. "And you're much more appreciative of my singing voice when you're asleep."

It takes a moment for Jesse to hear the subtext there, but Saul knows the moment he realizes it, because Jesse's expression turns horrified. "Oh God." He turns away to hide how his face is growing redder. "This is—there are no words for this." Jesse pauses and faces Saul again. "Is that why I woke up this mornin' with 'Stairway to Heaven' stuck in my head?"

Saul snickers.

Jesse sighs, presses his hands and forehead against the translucent glass. "I bet sharks never feel like dying of humiliation," he grumbles as a Grey Reef shark glides up to the glass.

"Humiliation seems like a pretty good way to go in lieu of poaching."

Jesse glowers at him. "You sang me to sleep," he growls through his teeth, like it's the worst thing that could ever happen to anyone. Jesse has the most perfect teeth Saul's seen in his life.

"And it worked," Saul reminds him.

Jesse folds his arms over his chest and stares straight ahead at the aquarium. A school of colorful fish swims by. "Saul's kind of a dick, huh?" he asks. After a moment, Jesse looks at Saul and says, "The fish say yes."

The only thing more ridiculous than Jesse talking to the fish is how endearing Saul finds him.

Their next stop is Fremont Street. Jesse seems perpetually awed by the sights and sounds around him, and while Jesse watches the lights, Saul watches him. They spend an hour in a tour of the Neon Museum, taking pictures of vintage Vegas signs. Jesse does most of the photography, since Saul's been here plenty of times in the past with his brother.

"This is, like, a cemetery for old casino signs," Jesse points out while they're lagging behind the rest of the group. "Can you imagine if regular cemeteries charged admission and had tours?"

"Only worth it if the bodies crawled out of their graves and reenacted the 'Thriller' video."

"I bet that'd cost extra. Guess it's a good thing there's a zombie apocalypse store around here, huh? Stock up."

"You'd probably get kicked out for shooting the attractions."

"Would it be murder or vandalism though?"

"Since zombies aren't legally recognized as people, I'm pretty sure that would fall under the heading of vandalism." Saul clicks his tongue. "Yeah, once you become a corpse, you're pretty much property."

"This is a weird conversation," Jesse says.

"It's par for the course with me."

"Well, I hope we have more," Jesse says, then adds: "I—I mean, if you want. You think we'll still be friends when we get home?"

"Why, what are you planning?"

"N—nothin', I just... I don't wanna be alone again." He stuffs his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket.

Saul remembers how Jesse coped the last time he was alone, because Walt told him about it. He doesn't want Jesse living in squalor, surrounding himself with addicts and hobos just so he won't be alone. Because Saul really, really likes being with Jesse.

"You won't, kid," Saul says, tugging Jesse closer. "Not while I'm around."

* * *

They spend the rest of the day poking through the various shops and eateries on Fremont Street. Lunch consists primarily of sugar—Italian sodas and ice cream, then white chocolate-dipped strawberries, and a dozen decadent cupcakes. Then Jesse buys a 64-piece box of chocolates—"because  _colors_ , Saul!"—and refuses to share until they get to the car.

At dusk, they watch the light show—or, rather,  _Jesse_  watches the light show. Saul's got all his attention on Jesse, and no amount of dazzling, spectacular lights can tear his gaze away from the adorable smile on Jesse's face, or the way he's lit up under the false sky.

When the sky turns dark, Saul takes Jesse to the CityCenter, and they walk through the neon sparkle of the shopping mall. Jesse doesn't care much about high fashion or designer labels, but he enjoys the spectacle of it all, how shiny and extravagant everything is, the crisp smell of new clothes and perfumes. Saul loves seeing Jesse like this, so he doesn't argue when Jesse forces his phone into his hand and makes him take pictures.

At the end of the night, they watch the liquid fireworks outside the Aria. Holding Jesse's hand makes all sorts of feelings tickle against Saul's heart. The way his long fingers wrap around Saul's own, the way Jesse stares enraptured at the vibrant, rainbow-colored water. Jesse is absolutely perfect, and Saul wants to kiss him forever.

Instead, he tips his head against Jesse's and murmurs, "Y'know, my name isn't really Saul Goodman."

"Yeah, I kinda figured that. 'S'all good, man'? C'mon, dude." Jesse looks at him, and his mouth is soft and smirky. "You gonna tell me what your real name is?"

"How much of a dick would I be if I said no?"

"Total dick. Huge dick."

"So you've seen my personal ad?"

Jesse laughs a gorgeous, throaty sound that Saul wants etched into his bones. "You're not gonna tell me, huh?"

"I think I'll keep you in suspense for a while."

Jesse squeezes his hand. "Bitch." Saul feels a tingle in his spine. "I bet it's something super lame and stuffy, like... Winston or Duke or Chesterfield—"

"Stop naming cigarettes!"

"Just tell me," Jesse says with a hint of pleading. He steps in front of Saul's line of sight to make puppy-dog eyes at him, and, wow, that's a really effective technique. Jesse's backlit by the lights, a multitude of colors surrounding him like a halo. He settles his free hand on Saul's chest. "I won't laugh, I swear."

Saul doesn't know what he's supposed to do here besides the obvious; he grasps a handful of Jesse's t-shirt and pulls him in, claiming Jesse's mouth under his own. Jesse smiles and kisses back. He gets Saul's bottom lip between his teeth, licks his way into Saul's mouth. Jesse kisses with zero hesitance, no apprehension, like they've always been this way. Saul makes a noise in the back of his throat that makes Jesse hum around the kiss and dig his fingers into Saul's shirt. Saul has to ease back, kiss him in small pecks before finally breaking away.

Jesse licks his lips, and Saul can see his radiant blue eyes. Then he smiles that shy smile, and it's like all the lights in the city just cranked up to ten. The way Jesse's looking at him now tells Saul everything without him needing to say a word.

Saul's kind of amazed they make it back to the hotel without tearing each other's clothes off. They're the only ones in the elevator, so on the ride up to their room, Saul keeps the kiss going, his mouth hard and ardent against Jesse's own. Jesse's hands are full with the boxes of chocolate and cupcakes, so he just leans against the wall and moans around Saul's affection. Saul's hands are free, so he lays them on either side of Jesse's face and strokes his thumb at the corner of Jesse's lips, coaxing them to open.

He loves the rasp of Jesse's upper lip against his mouth, the soft scrape of stubble under his palms. He can feel Jesse's quick breaths over his skin. He's so immersed in them, in having Jesse so close and so wanting, that he barely hears the ding of the elevator. The doors open, and two girls ranging from tipsy to drunk stagger inside, laughing and giggling.

Saul pulls his mouth away from Jesse, mortified by the interruption. One of the girls presses a button on the elevator panel. Saul realizes this isn't their floor, and that he's still got his hands on Jesse's face. Not passing this one off as a friendly kiss.

The girls are still giggling, quieter now as the doors close. "Aww, you guys are so cute," one of the girls says. Her red hair's frizzed out, one of her dress straps hanging off a shoulder. "How long have you been together?"

Saul opens his mouth, closes it, looks at Jesse in panic. But Jesse's already got an answer. "Since, like, Friday?" His smile's so wide it melts Saul's heart a little.

They "aww" in unison. "That's so sweet," the redhead says. "You two look so happy."

Jesse grins, his cheeks flushed pink. "Yeah, totally. He's great."

The brunette's holding a martini glass. "That's great, honey," she says, looking at Jesse. Her voice is much higher-pitched than Saul expected. "My turn: I'm getting married tomorrow!" She holds up her free hand to show off the glitzy engagement ring around her third finger.

"Hey, congrats!" Jesse shoves the boxes into Saul's hands. He digs into the back pocket of his jeans and pulls out a wad of cash. He splits the money into two stacks and hands one to each girl. "How 'bout a wedding present, huh?"

Two pairs of mascara-lacquered eyes stare at him in shock. "How much did you win?" the redhead asks in a gasp.

"He's one of those young millionaires," Saul cuts in, because as long as they're making shit up, it might as well be good. "Heir to his family's massive fortune." Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Jesse's mouth curve into a smirk.

Martini Girl takes a sip. "So you're the Anna Nicole to his J. Howard Marshall?"

Saul chuckles. "Sans the nice rack."

The girls laugh, and he hears one of them whine, "Oh no, he's funny," as the doors open.

"That's us," Jesse says to him, tugging at his shirt. He smiles at the girls as he and Saul move through the open doors. "Enjoy the fat stacks, yo. Good luck on your marriage."

"Thanks, sweetie!" Martini Girl calls back as the doors close.

Jesse grins at Saul. "'Young millionaire'?"

"Technically, I'm not lying."

"You're such a dork."

They order room service for dinner and eat on the balcony. The view's unlike anything Jesse's ever seen, as evident in the way he's gazing out at the glistening city. Saul, of course, can't take his eyes off Jesse. His insides feel all fluttery and twisted up, because he thinks he's falling a little in love with Jesse. It's overwhelming and scary, and Saul doesn't know how to do relationships without fucking them up royally.

Kim was the outlier, the one time Saul had an intimate relationship that managed to survive the sex. But where is she now? Yeah, exactly. Saul's learned that when he goes to bed with someone too quickly, his chances of developing something long-term takes a major hit. It doesn't matter if his partner's male or female; that's just the way it is for him.

But when Saul looks at Jesse, he can see the kid's falling hard. It's everything Saul wants, but, Christ, would that be the wrong move. Saul loves the comfortable little friendship they've got going, and if he ruined that by trying to make them something more...

Jesse sets the box of chocolates on the middle of the table when they're ready for dessert. They've already eaten the first tier, so he lifts up the divider and they start to work on the second. "So much better than those crappy gamble chocolates they sell for Valentine's Day, right?" Jesse says around a champagne truffle.

"No toothpaste in any of these."

"Yet. Maybe they're on the bottom." Jesse bites into another chocolate, makes a face, but forces himself to swallow it.

"Toothpaste?"

"Caramel."

Saul pauses, his hand stilled over the box. "How do you not like caramel?"

"I just don't, okay? I don't mind it when it's in a candy bar along with other stuff, but when it's just caramel and chocolate it grosses me out." Jesse hands him the other half of the truffle. "Want it?"

How can these mundane, meaningless things suddenly feel like they're doing something they shouldn't? Saul's had his dick in Jesse's ass, but somehow eating a chocolate Jesse's put his mouth on feels too intimate. That doesn't stop him from eating it, however.

Jesse picks through the third tier. "How come there's, like, ten of the flavors I don't like, and they only give you one of the awesome kinds?"

"Because life is cruel?"

He lifts up the third tier to peer into the fourth. "Oh my fucking God, did they seriously give me an entire layer of caramels?"

The look of outrage and disgust on Jesse's face is priceless. "It's like they wanted to make your life miserable," Saul says, plucking a caramel from the box.

"Dude, take 'em." Jesse pushes the box across the table. "I get the rest, though."

"There's something unfair about that, but I can't quite put my finger on it."

"Seriously? I'm giving you sixteen free pieces of chocolate, and you wanna bust my balls," Jesse grumbles in the middle of chewing a non-caramel piece.

"I'd rather do other things to your balls," Saul says with a straight face. Jesse nearly chokes, his eyes bulging.

"And let's not even talk about the things I wanna do to your ass," he adds, because he's an asshole.

Jesse forces himself to swallow. Saul shouldn't be turned on by the bob of his throat, but he is. Jesse pushes away from the table and picks up the box. "So don't talk about it," he says, his words wavering. "Just do it."

Saul and his stupid, big, impeccably-talented mouth. He sighs once Jesse's slid the glass door shut behind him. They probably shouldn't have sex again. Sex will only make it that much harder for Saul to put some distance between them. But, God, if this is the last chance he's going to get, might as well make the best of it.

But first, Saul has a confession to make.

Jesse's storing the chocolates in the mini-fridge when Saul makes his way inside. Saul clears his throat, takes a couple steps toward Jesse. Just spit it out. Like ripping off a band-aid. "It's, uh, it's Jimmy McGill."

Jesse shuts the fridge door and turns around, staring at him with an odd, perplexed look. "What?"

"My real name. It's Jimmy McGill."

Jesse doesn't laugh, at least not the way Saul thought he would. He breathes out an amused sound, and his mouth curls into a warm, kind smile. "For real?"

"For real." Saul hopes he's not as red as he feels.

Jesse's smile spreads, and Saul thinks maybe Jesse's laughing at him a little, but it's worth it for the way Jesse looks here. "Wow." Jesse gets his hands full of Saul's shirt and nuzzles into the curve of Saul's neck.

"Pretty dorky, huh? Back in Cicero, my street name was Slippin' Jimmy."

Jesse chuckles over Saul's skin, lets a hand hang down and tangle with Saul's own. "No shit?" He tugs Saul in the direction of the stairs. "Well, Slippin' Jimmy can slip it in me anytime."

Saul chokes on a laugh and nearly trips his way up the staircase. "Jesus."

They make love in Saul's bed. Saul can't even remember the last time he  _made love_ instead of fucked, but with Jesse it's all he can think to do. Jesse's hands are everywhere at once, clutching at Saul's back, shoulders, tugging at his hair. His heels press against Saul's ass, pushing him in deeper. Jesse makes Saul's favorite sounds in the world when they're tangled like this, soft, breathy little moans wrapped around his name as their mouths meet over and over.

Saul loves being inside of Jesse, the way his hands drag down Saul's back, the noises he makes when Saul rolls his hips and pushes in, how he moves to match Saul's rhythm, the way Jesse feels around him. Sex with Jesse is the best Saul's ever had, and his heart aches that after tonight he'll never touch or taste this beautiful boy and his deliciously-placed tattoos again.

Jesse moans when Saul sucks on his Adam's apple, and Saul loves that he can feel it  _and_  hear it. Jesse grasps at Saul's back, his spine arching off the mattress and pressing them together. He makes a sound of warning, breathes hot and frantic against Saul's mouth. He works his hips into Saul's thrusts, then his hands dig in and he's coming and shaking and gasping and holding onto Saul so, so tight; Saul doesn't last long at all watching that.

Jesse holds him close as they catch their breath. Saul can feel Jesse's hot breath at his ear, his warm hands splayed over his back. He wants to go again, wants to make every second of tonight count, but lying here with Jesse in post-coital bliss isn't so bad either. He feels stretched out and sated, and Jesse nibbles at his earlobe, presses soft kisses to the side of his face.

Saul spends the downtime putting his mouth all over Jesse's body, sucking kisses into his inner thighs, his throat, over his belly, leaving tell-tale marks to remind Jesse what they've done here. Jesse squirms and sighs and clutches onto him, his mouth begging and giggling under Saul's teasing. Saul winds him up, gets him hard again, and when his own dick's aching with arousal, they go again. He hooks an elbow around Jesse's knee and pushes, Jesse moans and pulls him in, and Saul's absolutely certain he's in love with Jesse Pinkman.

* * *

Saul doesn't mind when Jesse snuggles into his side later that night, doesn't think twice about curling an arm around Jesse and singing him to sleep when the nightmares come. Jesse doesn't seem to mind it either.


	4. Chapter 4

When Saul wakes up, Jesse's still cuddled into him, his head against Saul's chest. The bristle of stubble prickles Saul's skin, but there's no way he's moving. The worried crease of Jesse's brow has vanished, and Saul's a little proud of himself for soothing it. Jesse looks at peace, as if he's right where he's always wanted to be.

A shame it all has to end today.

Jesse's tattooed arm is slung over Saul's body. Saul traces over the design with careful fingers. Hickies have bloomed on Jesse's shoulders and the curve of his throat; Saul remembers giving him each one.

Sunlight's flooding their room, and Saul wonders if they've overslept. He spies his phone on the night table, which is conveniently on the other side of the bed. But the digital display on the clock there reads 9:27 a.m. So they've got about an hour and a half before the hotel kicks them out.

Saul doesn't want to wake him up—Jesse looks so peaceful, and sleeping is one of life's greatest pleasures, right up there with sex and eating gluttonous amounts of food—but he knows he probably should. There's really no good way to wake someone up, but light kisses ought to be agreeable. Saul presses his mouth to Jesse's speckled shoulder, follows the line of his collarbone until he no longer can, then he's mouthing over Jesse's sandpaper jaw.

Jesse stirs and makes a sleepy noise in his throat. Saul spreads his hand over Jesse's back. "Rise and shine, Pinkman," he murmurs. Jesse pries his eyes open just to close them one second later. He grunts and tries again. This time, he keeps one eye open and the other shut, and the sweetest smile Saul's ever seen spreads on Jesse's mouth.

Saul imagines waking up to this every morning before forcing himself to shut that door completely.

"Mornin', Jimmy," Jesse says with a grin.

Saul sighs. "I told you not to call me that."

"I think it's cute."

"I'm too old to be cute."

"Nuh-huh," Jesse argues, closing his eyes again and dragging his hand over Saul's stomach. Saul's heart leaps and twists in his chest—Jesse thinks he's  _cute_. "Besides, I thought you'd be stoked about sharin' a name with one of the dudes from Led Zeppelin."

Saul smiles and holds Jesse tighter. His hand traces lazy swirls over Jesse's back. He wants this every morning and every night, just to be with Jesse, to hold him and love him with every beat of his heart. He breathes out a sigh. "So, I was thinking we'd get breakfast somewhere after we check out."

Jesse makes a sound of agreement and presses his mouth to Saul's skin. "Can I—can I ask you somethin'?" he asks, tilting his head to look up at Saul.

"Of course."

Jesse spreads his fingers over Saul's chest, dangerously close to a nipple. He's doing his best not to look at Saul, and Saul wonders what that's about. "Does everything that happens in Vegas have to stay here? 'Cause this was good... and I want it to keep happening."

"You wanna stay friends with benefits?"

Jesse swallows. "Well, actually, I thought maybe we could be more than that. I mean, we could try dating, y'know? This whole thing with you—it's been really easy—for me, at least. And it's not like we haven't been goin' on dates this whole weekend." He risks a glance at Saul. "I think we could be really good together."

Saul tries to calm the panic rising in his chest. He can't freeze time and formulate the perfect "it's not you, it's me" speech. Jesse's highly sensitive with too many trust and rejection issues to ever believe the problem here doesn't lie with him. Saul has spent all weekend earning Jesse's trust and love, and now he has to break his heart.

Saul doesn't know how to do this, how to let Jesse down without hurting both of them. "Kid... I don't think that's a good idea."

Jesse gazes up at him with agonized eyes. "Why not?" He sits up, and Saul spots a red mark on his hip before Jesse tugs the sheets over his legs. "I thought we were, like, bonding and shit."

"I just—I don't see this lasting outside of the nice little bubble we've got here. Lots of feelings can flourish in this kind of... unrealistic venue. C'mon, you can't tell me you didn't walk away from that four-day cook with Walt feeling just a tad closer than you two were before."

Jesse chews the inside of his cheek, glancing away like he's ashamed of something. "Or you go crazy 'cause you're together all the time. We haven't been apart for, like"—he counts on his fingers—"sixty-four hours. You'd think I'd wanna strangle you at least once."

Saul struggles for the right words here. This is one of the most important negotiations he's ever been a part of, yet to win it, he has to lose.

"Are you seein' somebody else?" Jesse asks, wide-eyed and innocent. "Is that why you don't want..."

Saul shakes his head. "No, I just—Look, kid... I'm no good with relationships. Three divorces, remember?" He chuckles, the sound rough in his throat. "This isn't my area of expertise. I'm more of a one-night stand kind of guy. It's for the best if we just go back to the way things were."

Jesse's face scrunches up, and he looks away as tears squeeze from his eyes. Saul wants to reach over and wipe them away, but touching him will only make this harder. "So, what, you get a free trip, gambling, sex whenever you want it, and then you just drop me? Asshole." He wipes his face with a hand and kicks his way free of the sheets. He pulls on his boxers, and Saul hears him sniffle. The sound cracks his heart in two.

"No, no, no, kid, it's not like that—"

"Bullshit. You said it yourself—you haven't had a vacation in, like, forever, right? So, what, you thought you'd just use me for a couple days, spend my money, and I'd just forget about it?" Jesse's eyes are wet and red and pained; Saul yearns to hold him and shoulder some of that pain.

Saul gulps against the lump in his throat. "I never wanted you to feel used."

"Yeah, well, I do. So thanks for that." Jesse grabs his clothes off of the floor and storms out.

Saul wants to go to him, to hold him and tell him the kisses and touches they shared were the most honest things about Saul Goodman. But he doesn't know if Jesse will believe him.

He has to try something. Saul scrambles out of bed, sticks his legs through his boxers and goes after Jesse. He's had plenty of arguments in his underwear—he's pretty much desensitized to it by now. Jesse's in his bedroom, shoving clothes into his bag. "Jesse, Jesse, hold on, just—"

Jesse whirls to face him, his gaze full of fire and destruction and pain. "What, you wanna try to explain how I'm s'posed to  _not_  feel like garbage?"

Saul opens his mouth to try, closes it.

"I thought you were different," Jesse says in a tiny, heartbroken whimper. "When you gave me that gun to protect me from Mr. White, I thought"—he swallows thickly—"I thought you gave a shit. 'Cause it didn't make sense for you to do that if you were just tryin' to protect yourself."

If Jesse knew Saul had a hand in helping Walt poison Brock, he would abandon this ridiculous idea and cut himself out of Saul's life. Maybe that's why Saul can't get the words out of his mouth.

But if Jesse's going to hate Saul, he has to do it for the right reasons. Saul takes a breath and moves closer. "Look, Jesse, all that stuff I said about bein' bad at relationships? It's all true. But that doesn't stop me from wanting you more than I've ever wanted anything or anyone in my life."

Jesse's lips part around a shaky exhale. The despair in his eyes is replaced with hope, and Saul hates having put it there, knowing he's just going to destroy it in the same breath.

"No." Jesse shakes his head, like he's trying to shake away Saul's words. "Then why'd you say 'what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas' when we started this whole thing? Like you wanted it to be a one-night thing?"

"Because I was afraid," Saul admits. "I thought if you knew I was interested in more than just your ass, you'd freak out. I mean, c'mon, I ran out all my luck on gettin' you in bed with me"—he realizes that's a bad way to phrase it, but, whatever, it's out there—"I didn't wanna blow it all."

Jesse shakes his head again, a flurry of emotions written on his face.

"Do you really think I would'a gone out of my way to show you around and take you places if you were just some pump-and-dump chump?" He probably shouldn't be rhyming in a situation like this. "Kid, those were dates."

Tears spring anew from Jesse's eyes. He wipes them away with his tattooed hand. "So you like me, but you don't wanna date me anymore?"

"I want it more than anything, but I've got a piss-poor track record that says 'don't even try.'"

Jesse gives him the angry eyes again. "That's such a bullshit excuse! You wanna talk track records? My first real girlfriend? Dead. And I probably killed her." Saul hears the way the words fall apart in Jesse's throat. "My second girlfriend? Her brother killed one of my best friends, and she would'a never stayed with me if she knew who I really was. But if I could make it work with anybody, it'd be you."

Saul's heart drops into his stomach. "What? Why?"

"'Cause this whole weekend we got along great. The sex is awesome, we make each other happy, and it's like you said before: who knows more about Mr. White's operation than us? We never have to worry about scarin' the other person off 'cause we know all about that shit. There's no secrets."

"That's where you're wrong, Jesse... I do have a secret." Saul hoped it wouldn't come to this, but Jesse's not letting go. He has to tell him the truth. "And if you knew, you wouldn't want this anymore."

"Try me," Jesse says, with conviction. "There's nothin' you could tell me that would change my mind."

"I had Huell lift your ricin cigarette." Saul hasn't cried in years, but he thinks he might now. "Walt made me do it. He told me he was helping you, saving you. I never would'a agreed to it if I'd known what he was gonna do."

The hurt on Jesse's face is unfathomable; Saul feels like the entire world's fallen upon him.

It's almost over though, so he pushes through. "So now you know," Saul says. "Why it would never work. Why we can't be together." He can't think of a pithy quip to end this conversation on, so he just turns and heads back to his bedroom.

The pain is so heavy he thinks it might crush him, but it doesn't. It sits weighty on his heart while he packs his bags in solitude. Saul isn't sure if Jesse's absence hurts more than any bitter words or punches he could throw.

He's alone for five minutes before he hears the soft sound of Jesse's footsteps behind him. Saul braces himself, ready for whatever Jesse's suffering may unleash. Jesse moves closer and lays his hands on Saul's shoulders. Saul flinches minutely under the touch.

Jesse doesn't hurt him. Instead, he turns Saul around, as gently as he can, until they're face-to-face. Jesse's cheeks are damp, his eyes moist and glistening with tears. He doesn't look angry, but that doesn't extinguish the fear in Saul's gut. He's frozen, unwilling to move, breathe, or even blink under Jesse's hands, too terrified he'll turn this moment into something worse.

Jesse closes the distance between them and captures Saul's lips underneath his own. It's a soft, gentle press of mouth, and Saul's heart feels like it's going to burst out of his chest. Why is Jesse kissing him? None of this makes sense. He shouldn't want this. Why does he still want this?

Jesse breaks away, just enough to murmur, "I told you nothin' would change my mind."

Saul involuntarily licks his lips and watches Jesse's face. He can't find words when Jesse's looking at him with eyes full of love and acceptance. "But... the cigarette. How can you—"

"It's not your fault. Mr. White made me do his dirty work too."

If Jesse's willing to forgive him for aiding in Brock's poisoning, he must want this as much as Saul does. Trying to push him away would be idiotic; Jesse's here to stay.

Saul settles his hands on either side of Jesse's face. "Oh, kid... I'm not even a fraction of what you deserve."

"I don't care. I want this. I want you."

Saul's an idiot if he doubts the conviction in Jesse's voice or the way Jesse moves in and claims his mouth again.

* * *

By noon they're on the road, beginning the long journey home. Saul still hasn't offered Jesse the chance to take the wheel, but he did agree to date him, so Jesse's not going to bust his balls about driving. He casually commandeers the radio, because it's his turn to pick the music. He ends up leaving it on whatever station Saul was listening to.

Jesse interrupts the comfortable silence in the car by saying, "So this weekend I was basically your sugar daddy."

Saul laughs, warm and honey-brown. "That's a really weird reversal. I'm not used to this. I have to even up the score. Next time we go out, I'm paying."

"Define 'go out.' 'Cause I don't want you finding some loophole and tryin' to even the score by buyin' me Slim Jims and a Slurpee at the next gas station."

"You could have me buy a whole box of Slim Jims if you wanted."

Jesse just stares at him. "You don't get it, do you?"

Saul blinks. "Obviously not."

"It's not about the money. When we get back to ABQ, I wanna go out with you like we did here. Y'know, goin' out to places and shit. Like a real couple." He rubs his arm, afraid of the enormity of his wants.

"That's just what I had in mind," Saul says, like he's not even bothered by it. "I'm gonna spoil you rotten, kid. It's been too long since I had somebody to buy overpriced chocolate for on Valentine's Day."

"You're supposed to buy it the day after when it goes on sale. I thought you were smart," Jesse teases.

Saul purses his lips. "Rarely have I dated anyone who would be okay with celebrating Valentine's the day after."

Jesse scoffs a disdainful noise at Saul's dating history. "You dated the wrong people, then."

"Thank you, Captain Hindsight."

"You said rarely. You mean you were with somebody almost as cool as me?"

Saul glances over at Jesse, as though sizing him up alongside this mystery lover. "Almost. In many ways you remind me of him." He chuckles, and there's history behind it.

 _Him_? Jesse lifts his eyebrows. "I'm not the first dude you've dated?"

"I thought I told you as much."

"Sayin' somethin' isn't the gayest thing you've ever done doesn't mean you dated a dude. Just means you fucked a guy. Or let him fuck you." Jesse's brain hangs on that image. Christ, why does that turn him on? He wonders if Saul would let him, how he might sound with Jesse's dick inside of him.

"You are way too curious about my sex life," Saul says, light-hearted.

Jesse shrugs, feigning disinterest. "I wanna know what I'm up against."

"Trust me, kid, you don't have to compete with anybody." There's a fragment of a smile on Saul's lips that suggests something tragic. "I like you just the way you are."

"Are we having a Mr. Rogers moment?"

"Excuse you, it was a Billy Joel moment. ' _Don't go changin' to try and please me, you've never let me down before_ —'"

Jesse reaches over and cranks up the radio, snickering to himself at Saul's bitchface that's soft around the edges, as if he knows Jesse only pretends to hate his singing.

* * *

Interstate 40 is a long, boring stretch of canyons and desert trails, so Saul pulls off to the side of the road and ravages Jesse in the back seat of the Cadillac. Jesse takes it all, legs wound around Saul's hips and hands clutching greedily at his back. Leather creaks in protest underneath them, and one of Jesse's dubstep playlists struggles through the speakers, though he can barely hear the sick beats over the way he's breathing greedy, shuddering breaths as Saul shoves into him.

"We should do this again," Jesse's saying as they're heading into New Mexico. "Y'know, go on vacation."

"Can't resist the siren song of ol' Vegas, huh?" Saul asks around a mouthful of potato chips he picked up at a gas station a few miles back.

"Well, actually, we don't have to go back to Vegas. How 'bout Miami or New Orleans or someplace totally different than just... desert? We could drive off into the horizon and have an adventure. See the world. Or maybe just the rest of the country first, whatever. I could do it myself, but it'd be better if you were there with me."

Saul gives him that lazy half-smile that always makes Jesse feel a little deconstructed. "Yeah, I wouldn't mind pokin' around the Mardi Gras city. I hear they've got amazing food."

Jesse snorts. "Of course you'd only go for the food."

"That's not my only motivation," Saul bemoans, like it should be obvious. "There's you, of course."

"I'm so glad I'm, like, second place to food."

"You're not second place. You're tied for first."

Jesse rolls his eyes, but there's no heat. "Oh, that's so much better," he says, and Saul laughs and drops his foot on the gas.

* * *

It's dark outside when the Cadillac rolls up to Jesse's house. They've gone so many miles and done so much over the last few days. Saul doesn't want it to end. He really wants to stay the night with Jesse and bond over pizza and Netflix. But, God, the last thing he wants is to look like he can't let go, that Jesse will suffocate if he holds on too long.

Jesse casts a quick glance at Saul, like he's trying to build a bridge between where he's sitting and the thoughts in Saul's head. "So, um, this was awesome," Jesse says, a nervous smile on his lips. "Thanks for goin' with me. I had fun."

"And plenty of grade-A orgasms," Saul says, because he still keeps on the clown mask.

Jesse does that adorable scrunchy-face thing. "You give yourself way too much credit." Saul knows it's a joke, and he loves that Jesse feels comfortable enough to tease him about that.

"Somebody has to."

"What, you want me to brag about it on Facebook? 'Boyfriend's dick game too strong.'"

No one's ever made Saul laugh like Jesse does. "Hashtag Vitamin D."

Jesse snickers, shakes his head like he realizes how ridiculous they are together. He sighs happily and sinks into his seat, and Saul guesses that Jesse might not want to leave this car either. Maybe he wants to keep driving, keep burning highway until they can burn away who they've been.

Saul doesn't have time to rehearse his words before they're just out there. "Hey, y'know, if you're not busy next weekend, we could go to dinner sometime." He shrugs. "Since you're my  _boyfriend_  and all."

Jesse grins. "Yeah, totally." He tosses a brief glance at his hands, then: "So, as my  _boyfriend_ , did you wanna come in?" He jerks a thumb to the house outside the passenger window, just in case Saul didn't know what he was referring to. "We could order pizza, watch a movie. If—if you want."

Saul shuts his eyes and concentrates. "Okay, what am I thinking about right now?"

"The fuck are you talking about?"

"I thought you could read minds. I was testing you."

Jesse gives him a huff of laughter and a shake of his head. "You're so weird." He pops open the passenger door. "C'mon, let's get inside."

Saul doesn't have to be told twice.

They spend the evening on Jesse's couch and share a pizza. Saul makes Jesse watch the entire first season of  _Archer_ , which Jesse pretends to be annoyed about, but halfway into the second episode Saul can tell he's sold. At the end of the night, Jesse invites Saul upstairs, and it's far too easy to kiss him and slide into bed together, a braided tangle of sighs and skin. Jesse hooks his legs around Saul's hips and just  _takes_ , and Saul's more than happy to give until they're both spent.

In the quiet afterglow, Jesse explores the slope of Saul's back with his fingertips, as though trying to memorize his body. Saul watches Jesse's face, sated and blissful, his lips curved into a tiny smile as his fingers explore and press into skin. His touch leaves Saul feeling oddly raw, his flaws on full display.

But Jesse doesn't seem to see them. He cuddles closer, nuzzling his face into Saul's neck. Saul feels the bristle of his hair against his cheek. "If you could live anywhere in the world, where would it be?" Jesse asks, his voice soft.

"Probably somewhere with a beach. Florida, California, Hawaii. Just out of the desert, I guess."

Jesse chuckles. "Yeah? You don't like deserts either? How come? Too hot?"

"Bad memories."

"Sorry," Jesse murmurs, as if remembering his first encounter with Saul.

Saul laughs a soft sound, holds Jesse tighter in his arms. "That's not what I was thinking of, but thank you for reminding me." Jesse's hand presses almost feather-light over the small of Saul's back. "When you've been taken out to the desert by real gun-toting maniacs, the fake ones kinda lose their edge."

Jesse huffs amusement into Saul's throat. "Oh my—You too? That's such a weirdly specific thing to have in common."

"You?" Saul thought Jesse's dislike of the desert stemmed solely from his cooks with Walter. This is new.

"Yeah, me and Mr. White got kidnapped and held up in the desert by this psycho named Tuco, and Mr. White tried to slip—"

Something in Saul's brain just stops. "Wait, what?" He pulls back a bit, trying to find Jesse's face. "Did you say 'Tuco'?"

"Yeah."

Saul's not a big fan of concepts like "fate" or "destiny," but he's pretty sure this falls under the header of one of them, maybe "amazing fucking coincidence." He's laughing before he can get the words out, and Jesse's watching him with a look of concern for Saul's well-being.

Saul turns over onto his back, drags a hand over his face as the levity subsides enough for him to speak. "You're not gonna believe this, but, uh, I too met this Tuco character under a suspiciously similar set of circumstances."

Jesse's eyes are as wide as dinner plates. A hint of a smirk tugs at the edges of his open mouth. "No way. Dude, are you fucking with me?"

"Why would I—What could I possibly have to gain from lying about this?"

"How'd you escape?" Jesse asks. "The only reason me and Mr. White got out alive is 'cause there was two of us, and 'cause Mr. White's brother-in-law happened to show up and blast the fuck outta the dude."

Saul's not too keen on reliving the whole experience. "I negotiated my way out."

"Bullshit."

"Long story short, I had two clients—this was years ago, back when I was Jimmy McGill—who were supposed to pull off a scam. Apparently, they punked the wrong person, and the unfortunate victim ended up being Tuco's grandmother."

Jesse's grin of disbelief widens as Saul keeps talking.

"So all three of us end up bound and gagged in the desert, with Tuco and his crew pretty intent on, uh,  _silencing_  us. But I managed to negotiate our way out with, all things considered, minor repercussions."

Jesse laughs. "How's that even possible?"

"Because I'm the best lawyer ever," Saul jokes, curling an arm around Jesse.

Jesse sighs a happy sound and cuddles closer. He closes his eyes, his breath soft and warm against Saul's skin. Jesse lays a hand on Saul's chest and spreads his fingers like he wants to touch all of him at once.

"I feel like we're really good together," Jesse says quietly, as though the words might be harmful if spoken too loudly. "Y'know, I mean, you get what it's like being the black sheep of the family and never measuring up. You're pretty chill, we have the same sense of humor, and the whole Tuco thing is just..." He trails off and shrugs his shoulders. "I dunno, I'm glad we're here."

There's a whole conversation under the words that Saul hears loud and clear. He holds Jesse tighter and says, "Yeah, me too, kid." He falls asleep to the slow trace of fingertips on the skin of his waist.


	5. Chapter 5

Saul pulls out all the stops on Saturday night. Dinner takes place at a ridiculously upscale restaurant with a name Jesse can't even pronounce. So of course he has to wear a suit. But Jesse's not going to complain about anything on their first real date. This is his chance to prove their relationship can last outside the comfy little bubble they built in Vegas.

"This is amazing," Saul raves through a bite of his steaming plate of pasta. "I want to eat this forever. Maybe I could make it."

"You cook?" Jesse asks. "Like, food?"

"What else would I—" Saul stops that train-wreck of a sentence right there on the tracks. "Yes, of course I cook food."

Jesse chuckles, but he has the good sense to feel bad about it. "Sorry, I just—I can't picture it, y'know? You don't seem like the type."

"I didn't used to be," Saul admits with a shrug. "But, uh, when my brother got sick, sometimes he'd make me cook for him, and he's got pretty high standards, let me tell you."

Jesse perks up, because that's not too different from his own situation with Aunt Ginny. "Yeah? How'd that go?"

"Imagine Gordon Ramsay without the accent."

"Wow."

"Hey, I got better. Or, at least, he stopped complaining about my cooking skills."

Jesse wants to know more about Saul's brother, because it sounds like they might have something else in common—caring for an ailing family member. But if Chuck and Aunt Ginny shared the same fate, Saul might not be too keen on talking about it.

"So it's my turn to complain about 'em," Jesse says, trying humor.

"Not much of a cook, I'm guessing?"

"I can make stuff. I just never had much of a reason to."

"Well, you got a boyfriend now," Saul says, as if it's the most natural thing in the world. "A boyfriend who's gonna request breakfast in bed; I'm a huge fan of breakfast bakes, but, hey, I won't say no to a good plate of pancakes or waffles."

"You got no business making breakfast demands, dude," Jesse says with a grin, because Saul called himself Jesse's  _boyfriend_. Twice.

"Alright, you can play it that way. But making me breakfast earns you a round of morning sex. Just, y'know, something to keep in mind."

Sometimes Jesse cannot believe he fell for this ridiculous man. "Why can't you make  _me_  breakfast?"

Saul taps a finger to his chin like he's considering that. "Okay, that's an option. But I like my idea better."

"Of course you do," Jesse scoffs, feigning annoyance. "But what if I'm not that great a cook? I mean, one time I made a grilled cheese with ramen noodles 'cause I ran out of bread."

Saul's brow furrows. "I don't even know what to say about that. Is that brilliant or just really sad?"

"Both, probably."

Halfway through the evening, Saul excuses himself from the table. Jesse doesn't mind—now he has an opportunity to steal a bite of Saul's food. It  _is_  pretty damn amazing, so Jesse snags another forkful, because it's not like Saul's going to know.

He's in the middle of sectioning off a bite of his own food when a familiar voice cuts through his calm like a hot blade. "Jesse?"

Jesse jumps and turns around in the direction of the voice. Oh no. "Mr. White..." Jesse breathes out, forcing cordial. "What are you—what're you doin' here?" Stupid question.

Walt shrugs. "The same thing you're doing. How've you been?"

It hasn't been that long since the last time they saw each other, but in Walt-time it probably is. "Me? I'm great." Jesse surreptitiously scans the room for Walt's wife. He wants to know where Walt's been sitting, if he's been watching them this whole time. It's too convenient that Walt just decided to show up during the first opportunity to speak with Jesse alone.

So Walt most likely knows Jesse's here with Saul.

Walt lifts an eyebrow in the curious way of his. "Really? That's good to hear. Is Saul helping you with your money?"

Yep, he knows. Jesse's fairly sure Walt won't do anything horrible to him in public. "Yeah, all that good stuff. Are you—are you here with your wife?"

Walt nods. "And the rest of my family."

"So, you mean, like, your brother-in-law?"

Another nod.

Schrader's here too? Tonight has the potential to end badly.

"So why are you talkin' to me?" Jesse hisses. "If he sees us together, you think he won't get suspicious?"

"I'm just catching up with an ex-student," Walt says, and there's no fucking way in hell he believes that shit.

"Well, it was nice seein' you, Mr. White," Jesse says, because that's the most polite way he can think of to say "fuck off."

But Walt's not leaving, and Saul's coming back to the table, and, God, this is all going so catastrophically wrong. Jesse wants to hide under the table and stay there until the awkwardness can't hurt him anymore.

"Saul!" Walt greets him like they're old pals. "What a surprise, seeing both you and Jesse here!"

Saul has that deer-in-the-headlights look going on. He manages to rearrange his face into something less horrified as he sits down. "Oh, h—hey, Walt, it certainly is a delight seeing your cheery face."

"So you're here with Jesse?" Walt asks, a hint of suspicion in his voice.

"Yeah, he's got a respectable amount of cash, and I think it ought'a be invested in a profitable, up-and-coming business."

Jesse looks at Walt and says, "Laser tag."

"Laser tag," Saul punctuates.

Walt gives them a dubious look, as though he's certain they're up to something but just can't prove it. "I see, well, that's—that's certainly an investment." He glances over his shoulder, as if someone's called his name. "I've got to get back to my table, but it was nice catching up with you both."

Jesse just stares at his plate of fettuccine, hoping like hell Walt's walking away. He risks a whisper of, "Is he gone?" across the table.

Saul nods, scooping up some of the remains of his food with his fork. "Yeah, he's gone. Sheesh, so much for a nice dinner, huh?"

Jesse rubs his arm. "Y'know, I didn't see them come in. So they must've been here before we got here." Saul eats a little quicker now, seemingly grasping Jesse's point. "Mr. White said his brother-in-law is here too. So, y'know, if he sees me and Mr. White in the same place, he might put it together that Mr. White said somethin' to me."

Saul nods. He's twirling the last few noodles around his fork. "You think we should scram before they see us?"

"Yeah, I mean—it's a good idea, right? For, like, self-preservation and shit."

"Alright, finish up and we'll get outta here," Saul says, a tinge of disappointment in his voice. Jesse's not exactly thrilled they have to cut their dinner short, but that doesn't mean the date has to come to an end.

He shovels in a few more forkfuls of pasta before calling it quits. Saul drops a few twenties on the table, and they manage to make it to the car without being spotted.

Saul sighs as he's unlocking the Cadillac for Jesse. "Sorry, kid. Maybe next time we can have a date that Walt won't ruin."

Jesse shrugs and slides into the passenger seat. "It doesn't have to be ruined. What about dessert?"

"Are you using the word as a euphemism for sex?"

"No, I mean like actual dessert. I want ice cream."

Saul taps his fingers on the steering wheel. "I'm kind of in a cake mood myself."

"We should have both! Ice cream cake, yo!"

"I think Dairy Queen is closed by now."

"Not Walmart. Or a regular grocery store. They got 'em there." Jesse watches Saul's face to see if he's sharing the enthusiasm for this idea. "C'mon, it'll be dope. We can eat the cake back at my place, maybe watch a movie, then we can have, y'know, the  _other_  kind of dessert." He wiggles his eyebrows.

Saul sighs again, slumping deeper into the driver's seat. His brow is furrowed in a way that makes Jesse want to reach over and smooth out the wrinkles there. "I just... I wish we didn't have to change our plans because of him. I mean, everything was going so well in Vegas, then we get back to the real world, and it's like—I dunno, maybe it's a sign."

Jesse ignores the cold squeeze around his heart. He tilts his head as though seeing Saul in a new light. "You don't seem like the kind of guy to give up so easy. C'mon, let's just grab a cake, go back to my place and chill, and if you still wanna call it quits in the morning, then, well, that's cool."

Saul glances over at him. "There were more ice jokes than entirely necessary in that sentence."

Jesse runs his words back through his head and huffs a laugh. "Is that a yes?"

It is. Jesse picks up an ice cream cake from the nearest grocery store, and they settle onto the couch to enjoy delicious sweets and a movie. Saul makes him watch the remake of  _The Fly_ —"it's a classic, Jesse!"—and by the time it's over Jesse's frowning so intensely he's in danger of swallowing his chin.

"That was the most depressing fuckin' movie I've ever seen," he whines. "Jesus."

"Yeah, it's a quite a downer." Saul crosses his ankles on top of the coffee table. "Wait 'til you see the sequel."

Jesse's eyes bulge in horror. "What?"

"Oh, yeah, it's pretty bad. And I mean that in every way possible. It's another 'let's take a decent guy and make his life an absolute hell' type of thing. And it's also kind of a shitty movie."

Jesse slumps further into the couch. "There's no way you're subjecting me to that again tonight. Or possibly ever. I'm emotionally compromised."

Saul chuckles, his toe edging against the cake container. "Can you believe we ate that entire thing?"

"Yeah, that shit was delicious." Jesse grabs his fork and scrapes up the last remaining bits of icing. "I regret nothing."

"I regret plenty," Saul says, staring at his stomach. "That's gonna go straight to my child-birthing hips."

Jesse chokes, because Saul can't just say shit like that when his mouth's full. "Shut up," he manages around a mouthful of icing. "Your hips are fine."

"Now, maybe." Saul sighs a happy sound and looks at Jesse in a way that sort of takes his breath away.

"You, uh, you still wanna give up?" Jesse says with a half-smile.

Saul shakes his head. "I never wanted to  _give up_. I just—It's been a very long time since I've had something like this. I really like what we have here. I don't... I don't wanna lose it."

"Who says you will?"

Saul settles back against the couch. Jesse scoots closer, desperate to be nearer to him. "After I got out of law school, it felt like the universe was trying to push me in a particular direction, and no matter how much I struggled against it, it never mattered. It was like my life was destined to be one way, and there's nothing I can do to change it."

"Kinda weird a lawyer would believe in shit like fate and destiny. So, what, if somebody gets arrested, that's how their life is s'posed to go? Defending them would just be 'fighting against destiny' or whatever?"

"That's—that's not exactly my point."

"But you get how weird that is though, right?" Jesse rests his head on Saul's shoulder. "Why can't you see it in a better way? Like maybe there was some sort of fate in us getting together. That we were destined to be together, and there's nothin' Mr. White or anybody else can do to change that."

Saul chuckles, tips his head against Jesse's. He slips an arm around Jesse's waist. "I hope that's true. But, y'know, I'll be frank, every relationship I've had has ended badly."

"'Cause you were s'posed to end up with me," Jesse teases. "Duh."

"Well, it's a good thing I actually like you, otherwise I'd be a little upset about the universe picking out my romantic partners."

* * *

Saul wakes up in the dark. He blinks his weary eyes and sees Jesse sitting on the end of the bed. The light filtering in through the curtains illuminates Jesse's bare back. He's clutching the plush shark to his chest. Saul sits up and risks a hand on Jesse's shoulder. Jesse startles at the touch as though someone dropped a Popsicle on his crotch.

"It's just me," Saul murmurs, sliding closer. Jesse seems to relax, so Saul moves in and curls around the muscle of Jesse's shoulder, arms entangled around his waist. "Did you have another nightmare?"

Jesse nods and clutches the shark tighter.

It doesn't take a genius to figure out why this one was worse than the previous ones. Saul breathes hot against the shell of Jesse's ear. "I won't let him hurt you, kid."

"You're just a guy. Mr. White is, like, the Terminator."

Saul chuckles. "I think you're givin' him a bit too much credit there, considering the Terminator was a robotic killing machine, and Walt is, well,  _not_  a robot. And whadd'ya mean, I'm 'just a guy'? I negotiated my way out of the desert with Tuco. I think I'm at least on the level of Thomas Magnum."

Jesse makes a noise that might be a laugh. "Nah, you're more like Magnum's wussy friend. What was his name?"

"Higgins?"

"No way. Higgins was OG. I'm talkin' about the other dude."

"You mean Rick? Oh, that's hurtful, Jesse. I thought we were friends."

Jesse laughs and settles into Saul's embrace. "Hey, y'know, if all else fails," Saul says, "you can always take your money and disappear. Start a new life someplace where ol' Walt can't find you."

Jesse swirls his thumb over the ridge of Saul's knuckles. "I wouldn't wanna go without you," he says, in a voice that sounds smaller than usual, as though he's said too much.

Maybe that's awkward in a way Saul should steer them away from, because they ought to be miles away from entertaining the thought of running off together. But Saul just exhales softly and says, "Yeah, I'd miss you too."

* * *

The next time Saul wakes up, it's morning. Jesse's abandoned the bed, left Renaldo in the empty space alongside Saul. But Saul smells something delicious wafting up from downstairs, so he's fairly sure nothing horrible has happened.

Saul finds his clothes on the floor and drags on his boxers. He sticks his arms through his shirt sleeves, and that's pretty much it for getting dressed. The cotton is cold against his skin. He makes his way downstairs and sees Jesse working over the stove. Jesse's cell phone's lying atop the kitchen counter, playing a mildly familiar song Saul knows but can't place.

He figures it out once he gets into the kitchen. "Oh my God, is that 'Freewill' by Rush?"

Jesse turns to look at him, grinning in a way that makes Saul want to kiss his mouth. "Yeah. I thought it was appropriate after what we talked about last night."

It's the little moments like these, how Jesse's able to connect with him in such perfect ways, that make Saul feel the pow in his chest. "Don't ever change, kid."

"I won't," Jesse assures him. "I don't really know how to be anybody else."

Neither does Saul. He's tried, but he always comes back to who he's been.

Saul moves closer so he can see what Jesse's making. Near the stovetop sits a plate of small, square waffles covered with various spreads and decorations. "What's on the menu this morning?"

"Wonuts," Jesse says with a straight face. "Y'know, like if a doughnut and a waffle had a delicious, sugary baby."

Saul laughs. "Did you make me breakfast because I said I wanted it last night?"

Jesse's cheeks flush a soft shade of pink. "You also said if I made you breakfast I'd get morning sex," he says, like he's scored a point.

Saul leans against the counter. "Let's be honest: you probably would've gotten that anyway. One of the perks of dating me."

"What're the others?"

"Witty banter and free legal advice."

"Don't sell yourself short. You got other good qualities." Jesse pushes the plate of wonuts toward him.

"Like what?" Saul bites into a wonut covered in sprinkles and chocolate icing.

"Well, for one, you're not a total dick."

"That's the nicest thing anyone's ever said about me," Saul deadpans.

Jesse rolls his eyes as though Saul is just the worst. "You know what I mean."

Saul does. Jesse's been surrounded by horrible people for so long that someone who isn't a dick must be treasured and protected at all costs.

They manage to have a decent little breakfast until a knock at the front door disrupts their tranquil moment. Jesse leaves to answer the door. Saul can't see him from the kitchen, but he can hear Jesse's voice when he opens the door. "Yo, what's up?"

An oddly familiar male voice says, "What's with the fancy ride in your driveway? You get lucky last night?"

Saul smiles to himself.

"Why are you here, dude?" Jesse asks, exasperated.

"I was in the neighborhood, thought you might wanna hang or whatever. Me and Pete are gonna go over to his place. He's got the new  _Call of Duty_."

"I'm, uh, I'm actually busy today," Jesse says.

"Oh yeah? You got a girl in here? Is she hot?"

Jesse heaves a sigh. "Badger, just go."

Badger... That's got to be Brandon Mayhew, one of Walt and Jesse's associates. Saul chuckles in remembrance. "Oh, c'mon, kid," Saul calls to Jesse, "be hospitable. There's enough wonuts to go around."

Jesse makes an aggrieved noise, and Badger says, "Dude, you made wonuts?"

Badger comes into view, and he sort of stops when he sees Saul sitting there at the kitchen table like this is totally normal. Badger opens his mouth, closes it.

"Mr. Mayhew," Saul says. "Long time no see. You stayin' out of trouble?"

Badger looks at Jesse, as if seeking an explanation for this. "Am I, like, totally blazed, or is that Saul Goodman?"

"Yes and yes," Saul answers.

"Why are you in Jesse's kitchen?" Badger asks.

Jesse rubs the back of his neck. "We're, uh, we're sort of a thing."

Badger makes a snorting guffaw of a laugh. "No way! Are you serious?"

Jesse clearly objects to Badger finding any of this hilarious. He folds his arms over his chest and scowls, but he's wearing an oversized t-shirt and his boxers, so he's pretty much incapable of being intimidating right now. "Yeah, we hooked up in Vegas."

Badger's eyes widen. "You went to Vegas without me?"

"This is kinda  _why_  I went to Vegas without you," Jesse supplies, sounding guilty about that particular fact.

Badger looks from Saul to Jesse, like he's trying to figure out how this happened. Saul doesn't blame him; they're a bit of an unusual match on the surface. "I didn't even know you liked dudes, bro."

"Neither did I," Jesse says. "It just sorta... happened."

"But he's, like, fifty!" Badger looks over at Saul. "No offense."

"I'm young at heart," Saul protests.

Jesse shrugs at Badger as if to say, "What can you do?"

Saul pushes the plate of wonuts across the table as a sort of peace offering to Badger. "Wonut?"

Badger snatches a treat off of the plate and takes a bite. "This is crazy. I have to tell Pete!"

"No, you don't." Jesse's attempting to move him out of the room. "I can't risk this getting back to He Who Shall Not Be Named."

Badger makes his thinking face. "Voldemort?"

"No, Heisenberg," Jesse hisses, as though speaking the name aloud might conjure Walt into the room. "Just... don't say anything to anybody, alright?"

Badger sighs as though this is a near impossible request. "Okay, okay, you got it. I can keep a secret."

Jesse looks like he wants to argue with that, but instead just ushers Badger to the door. "Alright, great. Now bounce. I got stuff to do."

Saul chuckles to himself and wonders when he decided to surround himself with twenty-something stoners. Probably since the day he was one.

Jesse shuts the door and comes back into the kitchen. "Why'd you have to invite him in?"

It takes Saul a moment to realize that was kind of a douchey thing to do. He may have just unintentionally outed Jesse. "Yeah, not my best idea. But he would've believed you if you said I got drunk last night and passed out on your couch."

Jesse rubs his tattooed arm and sits across from him. "It's not that. I'm not embarrassed about dating you. I just... If word gets back to Mr. White..."

"Call me crazy, but I highly doubt those two run in the same circles."

Jesse shrugs as though agreeing. "Maybe you're right."

"No 'maybe' about it," Saul says with a self-assured smirk.

Jesse smiles, stares down at his hands. "So, uh, maybe next time we could do this at your place? If you want, I mean. I just thought it'd be dope to see where you live, y'know?"

"You're ready to shatter the illusion that I'm cool?" Saul jokes. Jesse will never be wholly prepared to see Saul's bedroom.

"I'll be fine; I never thought you were cool."


	6. Chapter 6

Next Saturday, Saul invites Jesse over to his house. When Jesse pulls into the driveway around seven p.m., he's a little surprised. The house looks surprisingly... normal. He's not sure what he was expecting—a Pee-Wee's Playhouse sort of abomination?—but Saul's home certainly doesn't share the flamboyance of his suits or the tackiness of his office décor.

Maybe inside is where the true horror lies. Jesse gets out of the car and walks up the walkway. He rings the doorbell, and moments later Saul answers the door, wearing a faded Pink Floyd t-shirt and a pair of baggy sweatpants. Casual Saul strikes again.

Jesse feels the breath catch in his throat. "Yo." Mr. Smooth.

Saul smiles at the sight of him. "You're just in time. You get your pick of the take-out."

"You didn't cook?" Jesse says, stepping inside the foyer.

"What can I say? I'm lazy."

Jesse surveys the interior of the house. It's all very understated in a way Jesse wasn't prepared for. "Do you even live here?" Jesse asks, because nothing's out of place at all.

"Of course I do. You think I would have a separate house for impressing dates?"

"Well, you did used to be a con man," Jesse says, and immediately regrets it, because Saul's carefree expression sort of crumbles. Jesse tries to backpedal. "But, y'know, it wouldn't be so bad if you did have a whole 'nother place for show. Nobody's ever tried to impress me before."

Saul lifts his eyebrows. "Really? None of your girlfriends?"

"They were all outta my league and they knew it. I had to impress them." Jesse chuckles in remembrance, though it's weak. Because Saul's completely out of Jesse's league too; he just doesn't know it yet.

Saul huffs a laugh. "Sounds like everyone I've dated."

"Even your ex-boyfriend?" Jesse's never getting over that.

"Especially him." Saul guides Jesse into the kitchen where boxes of delicious take-out await. "Alright, kid, pick your poison."

They settle in on the couch to eat and watch a movie from Saul's Netflix queue. Jesse doesn't protest, because Saul has pretty good taste in flicks and improves everything a hundred percent through witty commentary.

After dinner, Saul digs through the freezer and brings a half-full pint of ice cream over to the couch. Jesse happily digs in. He scoots a little closer, siphoning some of Saul's warmth. Jesse briefly wonders how to ask his next question before just taking the plunge. "So, uh, what happened to your brother? Is he..."

"Nah, he's still around. He's a tough ol' bastard."

"What's wrong with him? I mean, you said he got sick, so..." Jesse shakes his head. "I get it if you don't wanna talk about it. When my aunt was sick, I didn't—I didn't wanna talk about it either. I felt like saying it out loud would make it real, y'know?"

Saul nods like he understands. "What happened to your aunt?"

"Cancer." Jesse tries a shrug and jabs his spoon into the ice cream carton.

"I'm sorry to hear that, kid. But Chuck's not physically sick. It's a mental thing. Electromagnetic hypersensitivity. In layman's terms, he's allergic to electricity."

That is so not the answer Jesse was expecting. "For real? So he never goes out?"

"Well, he can't. Every time I visit him, I have to ground myself, put all my electronics in the mailbox so I don't bring electromagnetic waves inside."

"Wow. He wasn't, like, born with it, right?"

"No, it showed up a few years ago."

Jesse wonders if that means something. "Is he anything like you?"

"He's a lawyer... I think that's where the similarities end. I mean, we don't even have the same last name anymore." Saul chuckles in a way that's distantly bitter.

Jesse takes a bite and turns his body toward Saul, his elbow on top of the couch, head leaning on the heel of his hand. "So how's he different from you?"

Saul takes a spoonful of cookies and cream for himself. "Chuck was always... good. Ethical, moral, just an all around good guy. Everybody liked him. He's Clarence Darrow, and I'm Lionel Hutz."

Jesse watches a sad smile tug at the corner of Saul's mouth. "So you're sayin' you're not a good guy?"

Saul shrugs like that's exactly what he's saying. "Chuck's the kind of guy who could find a big ol' sack of money on the side of the road and actually bring it in to the police station without skimming off the top. He does the right thing because he genuinely believes in it, not because he likes himself better as someone who believes."

"Just 'cause you're a sleazy lawyer doesn't mean you're a bad person," Jesse says. "Like, you could be a real hard-ass at work and come home and be all nice with your family. I mean, people want lawyers like you. They expect it. You're just, y'know, servicin' a need."

"Thank you for making it sound sexual," Saul says with a grin.

Jesse rolls his eyes, but there's no heat to it. "You know what I mean, dude." He steals an enormous spoonful of ice cream and shoves it into his mouth. It's got that slightly melted texture Jesse loves. "Of course you're a good guy," he says. "It's in your name."

Saul gives him a weak half-smile. "You can't change who you are with a new wardrobe and a new name, kid."

"Maybe you shouldn't have to." Jesse takes another spoonful, savoring the cookie chunks. Saul just watches him curiously, as though Jesse's a puzzle he's trying to work out in his head. "Yo, you should get in on this before I eat it all," Jesse warns, his spoon scraping the bottom of the carton.

Saul breathes out a sigh of a laugh and joins Jesse in his hungry quest.

Once the ice cream's been devoured, Saul guides Jesse into the bedroom, pressing needy kisses over his mouth. Jesse feels Saul's hands slide underneath his t-shirt. He sighs a shaky noise against Saul's lips. Saul takes hold of Jesse's hips, and Jesse backs up until something bumps against his legs. He figures it's the bed and lets Saul push him down onto the mattress, their mouths never ceasing.

Jesse gets his hands full of Saul's hair, humming want-filled noises around their kisses. Saul nips at Jesse's jaw, dips his tongue into the hollow of his throat. Jesse chokes on a breath that slips out thicker and louder than he wanted. Saul's fingers climb up the lattice of Jesse's ribs, thumb grazing a nipple. Jesse blinks his eyes open, stunned by sensation.

Then he gets a good look at the ceiling and the décor of Saul's bedroom, and Jesse  _cannot_  stop laughing.

"What?" Saul sits up, his brow creased in worry, like he's afraid he's done something wrong.

When Jesse catches his breath, he says, "Dude, your fuckin' room."

Saul glances around, as though unable to pinpoint the source of Jesse's amusement. "What about it?"

How does Saul  _not_  notice the beaded curtains or the way the walls are covered in vintage concert posters? Is he oblivious to the shag rug at the foot of the bed and the Yellow Submarine wall clock? Jesus Christ.

"I feel like I'm on the set of  _That '70's Show_."

Saul's mouth does a pouty thing. "Yeah, I guess it's a little much."

"A little." Jesse surveys the room, because he's a glutton for punishment. "You actually bring dates here?"

"Would you believe me if I said you were the first?"

"Yeah, actually." Jesse wriggles out from underneath Saul. He inspects the posters on the walls, looking over everything Saul's deemed important enough to put on display. One of the pictures gives him pause, and he laughs. "Oh my God, you like Kiss?"

Saul makes his guilty face.

"Please tell me you went as one of the band members for Halloween. Please tell me that was a thing that actually happened."

Saul scoffs. "Nobody did that. They weren't even that popular. Just because I did a  _Rocky Horror_ thing, I wouldn't—okay, it was Gene Simmons, alright?"

Jesse snorts an unattractive sound, and he doesn't even care, because that shit is hilarious. "I fuckin' knew it."

"Hey, what about this?" Saul folds over the side of the bed and reaches underneath. He withdraws an aged beer shipping carton stuffed with vinyl records. "There's some real gems in here."

Jesse rushes over and gleefully sits cross-legged beside the box. Most of Saul's collection is exactly what Jesse expects it would be: Led Zeppelin, AC/DC, The Who, Pink Floyd, The Rolling Stones, Rush, Kiss. Mostly bands featured in the posters decorating his room—seriously, when did Saul get the decorating sense of a college kid? But some of the albums are hilariously obscure or just plain weird.

"You actually own more than one Barry Manilow record?" Jesse says with a healthy dose of judgement in his voice.

Saul shrugs, because he's got no excuse for that.

"I've never even heard of half of these people," Jesse says, sorting through the albums. "Did you keep literally every album you ever bought?"

"God, no. These are just my personal favorites or ones that have a decent amount of nostalgic value. Or a select few that might be worth some money."

"How much? I bet some hipsters would cream their jeans over some of these."

"I don't know. I never really..." Saul rubs the back of his neck. "Back when I was just getting started as a lawyer, I briefly considered selling these for some extra cash. I know there's some first press ones in there that might be worth a bit, but... I dunno, I couldn't bring myself to do it. I know they're just albums, but they mean a lot to me."

Jesse smiles, feeling like he's seeing a new side to Saul here. "You got a record player around here?"

"No, it broke when I moved," Saul says, sounding somber about this particular fact. "I didn't see the point in buying another one."

Jesse takes in the room again with fresh eyes. He sees the psychedelic, dog-eared concert posters on the wall; the mahogany bureau with a lava lamp and various knick-knacks spread on top; the aging Chicago sports team pennants pinned around the room; the Yellow Submarine clock ticking away over the dresser. Jesse digs his toes into the shag rug and feels as though he understands Saul a bit more now.

This is the only room in the house that doesn't conform to the minimalist, modern standards of the others. Saul's private sanctuary, where he surrounds himself with bright, colorful memories of years gone by. It's almost a metaphor for Saul himself: a man who presents a clean-cut, professional appearance on the outside, acting and speaking in all the ways the world expects a lawyer to act and speak, and the entirety of it is a façade to hide the fun-loving, flawed, and open-hearted man he truly is.

Jesse's smiling to himself as he stands up. He pushes the box of records underneath the bed with his foot. He doesn't want to say anything too corny, so he just moves closer, and Saul welcomes him with open arms, bringing them down onto the bed. Their mouths eclipse each other, and soon words are superfluous to their chorus of heavy breaths and moans.

* * *

"Shit," Jesse grunts, rocking his hips back against the solid heat of Saul's dick.

Saul's lying beneath him, gasping Jesse's name like a prayer. His hands are hot and wide open around Jesse's thighs. He rolls his hips up at an angle that has Jesse seeing stars.

"Fuck, fuck, oh God, I'm gonna—" Jesse fingers drag their way down Saul's chest as their hips clash together. His entire body feels like it's coming apart; he wants to hold onto that as long as he can.

Saul breathes out, "'S'ok, Jesse," hands going tight over Jesse's skin. He chokes out a noise that sounds like he's dying as he lets himself go. Jesse feels it, and, oh God, that's so fucking hot he can't even handle it. His orgasm shakes out of him with a pathetic cry, and he's jerking his hips and rasping for breath and folding over Saul. Saul just holds him there and sucks kisses into the slope of his neck as Jesse shivers his way through bliss.

"Was it good?" Saul asks when he can make words again.

"It's always good with you," Jesse says, rolling off of him and onto the empty space in the bed.

Saul turns his head on the pillow to look at him. "Just good?"

Jesse huffs a laugh and smacks him playfully on the shoulder.

Since they got back from Vegas, they've been dating for about a month now. Jesse feels like they fit together perfectly, enjoying casual, no-pressure dates when the weekend rolls around. On the weekdays, they exchange flirty text messages and the occasional goofy photograph of something the other might enjoy. It hasn't been very long, but Jesse already feels himself falling for Saul. Of course, Jesse doesn't so much fall in love as he does divebomb into it like a kamikaze pilot.

The morning sun's bleeding through the curtains of Jesse's bedroom, illuminating Saul in ethereal golden light. "Y'know, if I believed in angels, I'd think you might be one," Jesse says.

Saul snorts an undignified laugh. "Wow, and I thought my lines were corny. And how do you believe in ghosts but not angels? Aren't they sorta the same thing?"

"No. If angels exist, that means there's a God, right? For ghosts to be real, that just means we all have, like, spirits and shit."

"So where you think the spirits go? If ghosts are spirits that aren't at rest, where do they go when they, uh, rest?"

Jesse shrugs. "Maybe there's just, like, one big community where they all go. No heaven or hell, just someplace that kinda mirrors our world. Serial killers and rapists get put in jail, good people get to chill with their friends and family. Maybe they could meet somebody and have kids."

Saul lifts his eyebrows. "You realize you've just raised the possibility of ghost jail and ghost babies."

"They're not ghosts anymore. They're spirits."

"Oh, of course. I was wondering why it sounded ridiculous," Saul says with a laugh. "How come we end up having so many philosophical conversations?"

Jesse hadn't really noticed how frequently they talk about shit like this. "I dunno, maybe 'cause you don't make me feel stupid, even if you disagree. Like, I could never talk about this kinda stuff with Mr. White."

"You'd think a teacher would be more open to the volley of ideas."

"I know, right?" Jesse sighs. "Now, let's stop talking about him. I feel like he's got some Candyman shit going, like if you say his name three times he shows up."

Saul chuckles. "Didn't we have this conversation before? I distinctly remember reassuring you that Walter White is not a supernatural entity."

Jesse glares at him, because what the fuck did he  _just_  say? "Dude! You're gonna summon him, and I'm gonna be really pissed off."

"And wouldn't that be a shame," Saul says, sliding an arm underneath Jesse and tucking him closer. "You're kinda cute when you're mad." Saul kisses Jesse's mouth before he can protest, which, really, he's got nothing to complain about. Jesse smiles around the kiss, curls a hand in Saul's hair. He turns onto his side, the mattress springs creaking with the movement.

"This is perfect," Jesse says when his lips are free. "Waking up with you like this."

Saul smirks. "Yeah, it's a pretty sweet deal on my end too."

Jesse trails his fingertips along the curve of Saul's spine. "We should do somethin' today, if you're not busy, I mean."

"What else could I possibly be doing?"

"I 'unno. Lawyer stuff."

"My schedule's clear today, kid," Saul says with that gentle smile that twists Jesse up in knots. "What'd you have in mind?" His stomach interrupts with a loud growl.

Jesse laughs, his hand curving around Saul's hip and laying over his stomach. "Maybe we should get breakfast first, huh?"

"You're not cooking today?"

"I don't really have anything to make," Jesse admits. "That's why I ordered pizza last night. I think all I got in the fridge is eggs, and if I'm gonna have eggs I want hash browns and bacon and all that good shit with it."

"You should probably go shopping then," Saul advises. "We could do that, right? That's not too"—he flails a hand helplessly—"couple-y?"

"That's what we are, isn't it?"

"Well, yeah, but... I'm a little rusty on the whole dating thing. I don't know what the rule is for mutual supermarket adventures."

Jesse shifts in the bed, the sheets sliding underneath him. "Are there actually rules?"

"Well, there used to be. I'm pretty sure things've changed by now."

"Dude, we hooked up in Vegas on the first night," Jesse says. "If there's rules, we've already broken, like, at least ten of them."

Saul does that pained half-smile thing. "I'm just really scared I'm gonna mess this up, that I'll scare you off by accidentally moving too fast or—"

Jesse stops Saul's panicked flow of words with a hand. "You won't. Trust me."

Jesse's about to say more when a loud knock at the front door stops him. He turns his head in the direction of the noise. "Jesus. What the fuck do they want?" He sits up and slides his legs over the side of the bed.

"Could be a pissed off Girl Scout," Saul offers while Jesse's grabbing his clothes off of the floor.

"Shit, I hope so. I would buy, like, 20 boxes of Thin Mints right now."

"Stop talking about food," Saul whines.

Jesse snickers and heads downstairs once he's fully dressed. The knocking continues as Jesse descends the staircase and doesn't stop until he pulls open the door. But Jesse's not prepared at all for who's standing there at his doorstep.

"Jesse," Walt says in his official "you are in so much trouble right now" voice.

Jesse blinks, words pulled up in his throat. He's convinced Walt operates on Beetlejuice rules. Maybe you only need to say his name twice instead of three times.

"What do you want?" Jesse manages.

Walt cuts straight to the point. "Why is Saul Goodman's car in your driveway at nine o'clock in the morning?"

Jesse sort of flails. "Why are you at my house at nine o'clock in the morning?"

"I asked you first," Walt says, raising an eyebrow, because clearly he has the argumentative tactics of a five-year-old.

"None of your goddamn business," Jesse snaps. He attempts to slam the door in Walt's face, but Walt's quick, as though he anticipated that. He ignores Jesse's protests and forces his way inside.

Jesse exhales and rolls his eyes. "No, dude, just let yourself in. That's totally something you can do. Don't wait to be invited or anything." He tries to remember where he stashed the gun Saul gave him for emergencies exactly like this.

"Jesse, stop talking. What is Saul doing here?"

Jesse contemplates giving a smart-ass answer like, "I thought you wanted me to stop talking," but knows that would be the opposite of helpful. "He's helpin' me buy that laser tag place."

"Lie better," Walt says, anger seeping into his voice.

"It's not a lie," Jesse protests, but even he hears how weak it sounds. "He just stopped by 'cause he was in the neighborhood and needed me to sign some papers."

But Walt's looking around the room in a search for evidence, and he finds it near the door. A bulging black garbage sack sits on top of two empty pizza boxes. Walt looks at Jesse. "Two pizzas? Even you couldn't be that hungry." He advances on Jesse. "Saul spent the night here, didn't he?"

Jesse scoffs, his voice shaking. "No way. What, you think I'm some kind of homo?"

Walt ignores Jesse, as is typical of him, and snatches Jesse's cell phone off of the coffee table.

"Yo, what the fuck are you doing?" Jesse snaps, reaching for it, but Walt's too fast. All Walt has to do is see the lock screen, because the photo is Jesse's selfie with Saul in front of the Vegas sign.

Busted.

Walt shoves the phone at Jesse. "You went to Vegas with him?" he roars. If Jesse weren't so terrified he'd think Walt was just jealous. "What exactly is your relationship with Saul Goodman?"

Jesse doesn't have to answer that, because Saul comes down the stairs fully dressed, as if nothing inappropriate happened between them just minutes earlier. "Walt, hey! You didn't bring doughnuts, did you? 'Cause that'd really brighten my day."

Walt looks entirely done with Saul's wisecracks. "This doesn't concern you, Saul."

Saul gets a laugh out of that one. "Oh, I think it does." He moves closer to Jesse, as if protecting him with his presence. "And I gotta say, just as a reminder of the law here, if you lay a hand on Jesse, he's legally justified in defending himself." Saul spreads his hands. "Now, I know you—an upstanding citizen of the law—would never do such a thing, but, hey, sometimes it's good to have a reminder."

"Duly noted," Walt says, turning his attention back to Jesse. "You think it's just some great coincidence that Saul develops an interest in you the same time you come into money?" he chuckles, cruel and derisive. "You can't possibly be that stupid."

Saul's mouth drops open. "All things considered, the kid's smarter than you give him credit for."

"If all he wants is money," Jesse interrupts, "how come he hasn't asked for any? I offered to give him every penny, and he said no."

Walt rolls his eyes. "Of course he did. He had to make you believe he's interested in something else." Jesse glares at him. Walt throws his arms out like he's trying to fly. "Make me understand, Jesse. What could he possibly see in you otherwise?"

"You are such an asshole!"

"I'm not trying to insult you," Walt says, backpedaling. "I'm just trying to get you to see this for what it is."

Jesse scoffs with as much bravado as he can muster. "You don't know shit about us, so step off."

"You're, uh, you're leveling some pretty serious accusations here," Saul says. "Got any evidence to back this up?"

Walt focuses his attention on Jesse. "Whose idea was the Vegas trip?"

Jesse feels his face burn. "His, I guess. I asked him where I should go on vacation, and he said Vegas. But it was partly my idea 'cause I wanted to spend money."

"Oh, how convenient for him. And how, pray tell, did Saul manage to weasel his way into your little vacation?"

Jesse fights hard to keep his tone even, tears burning his eyes. "I invited him."

"Well, it's nice that Saul can always depend on the kindness of strangers," Walt snarks.

No, this is all bullshit. Saul loves Jesse, or, at the very least,  _could_  love him.

Saul makes an exasperated noise and checks his watch. "Okay, Walt, it looks like it's time for you to leave. But don't worry, you're not going home empty-handed, because you've won a copy of our home game! Thanks for playing!"

Walt doesn't move. Typical.

Saul digs into his pants' pocket and pulls out his cell phone. "Alright, listen to me very closely, because I want you to understand this. You've got ten seconds to leave the premises, or I'll have to bring about some unwanted police attention. Now, I know none of us want that, but you're really forcing my hand here. But that doesn't need to happen if you just see yourself out."

Walt hesitates for a moment, gives Jesse a meaningful look before turning away. "Just think about it, Jesse," he says as he opens the door.

"Think about this." Jesse flips him off, but Walt's back is turned, so it's entirely ineffective. It makes Jesse feel a bit better though.

When Walt shuts the door behind him, Jesse collapses onto the couch as if his bones have turned to jelly. Saul's at his side almost immediately, loving arms wrapping around him. "It's okay. It's over."

Jesse hugs himself like he's cold. Maybe he is, because he's shivering like someone cranked down the thermostat.

"I feel like this should be obvious," Saul says, "but maybe it's not. You know he's just trying to hurt you, right? That none of what he said is true?"

Jesse shrugs and nods at the same time in a gesture that says nothing at all. "I guess."

"Kid, I've got plenty of money, alright? I'm not in the business of being a gold digger."

Jesse doesn't know how to explain the way he's feeling right now, so he stays quiet and lets Saul hold him.

"C'mon, forget about him. Let's go get breakfast. My treat."

* * *

Not surprisingly, Jesse doesn't talk much over breakfast, though Saul does his best to coax opinions out of him. Eventually, Jesse starts talking when he realizes one-word answers aren't cutting it. It's not as light and casual as his usual conversation, but it's something.

Saul isn't sure if they should talk about Walt's accusations or not. How could he possibly prove his intentions in a way Jesse would accept? How is Saul supposed to explain how much Jesse means to him without sounding like he's trying too hard?

Jesse's frighteningly silent on the drive home, his eyebrows tightly knit across his forehead. Saul switches on the radio to erase the silence in the car. Jesse doesn't respond, lost in thought. Saul just  _knows_  Jesse's running through Walt's words in his head, which is the worst thing he could do.

When Saul parks in front of Jesse's house, Jesse doesn't move, just stares out the passenger side window as if they're still moving. Saul heaves a sigh and turns to face him. "I guess we're taking a raincheck on the shopping trip, huh?"

"Yeah, I'm sorry," Jesse says, low and rough. He rubs a hand over his mouth. "I just... I need to be by myself for a bit."

Saul nods, swallows back the lump in his throat. "Yeah, it's, um, it's okay, kid. I've got no problem giving you whatever you need, but, uh, personally, I feel like if I just let you go, you might interpret that as me not caring about your well-being. I don't want you feeling like I'm abandoning you here."

Jesse shakes his head slowly. "No, you're not." He tugs at his hoodie sleeves.

Saul's no good at this; he's never dated anyone who keeps everything bottled up. All of his romantic and/or sexual entanglements involved a lot of yelling and crying when things went wrong.

"I know you're gonna go in there and think about what Walt said," Saul says. "And, hey, it's a free country, you can do whatever you want. But it's not gonna help if you don't talk about it. You don't have to do it now if you don't want to, but I can't fix a problem I don't know about. All I can do is assure you that everything he told you is so, so far from the truth."

Jesse nods, but something in his eyes is faraway, and Saul knows words won't reach him right now. "I just need to be alone for a while." Before Saul can say anything more, Jesse pops open the car door and slides out.

Saul watches Jesse disappear inside the house before he drives off.

* * *

It's just like Walter White to barge in and step all over Jesse's relationships just as they're really going someplace. Of course, Jesse can't shake the terrifying idea that Walt might actually be right, that Saul doesn't give two shits about him as a person. It feels like a lie, but Jesse's been horrendously wrong about things before. After all, he used to think Walt had his family's best intentions at heart.

Jesse hates to just close himself off and leave, because he knows the only way Saul's capable of handling a problem is by talking through it. But it's not like Saul's going to admit he's only after Jesse's money. He's a lawyer; of course he'll use his words to defend himself.

But if Saul only cared about Jesse's finances, why did he try his damndest to keep Jesse away that last morning in Vegas? Saul revealed what might be his darkest secret, but it didn't change anything for Jesse. Jesse's the one who suggested they date, not Saul. Would a gold digger really want to cut ties with their cash cow?

Jesse doesn't know what to think anymore.

_Idiot._

_Junkie imbecile._

_Do you really believe that you mean anything to these people?_

_What have you got in your life, huh? Nothing. Nobody._

Jesse doesn't realize he's crying until his chest shakes with the force of a sob. Tears stream down his cheeks, and he whimpers a pathetic sound of despair. Maybe Walt's right. Aside from the huge payday, what does Jesse really bring to the table in terms of a relationship? Dating Jesse is like hanging around with a teenage boy—video games, junk food, and TV. At some point, Saul's going to tire of Jesse's adolescent humor and complete lack of marketable skills. Then what?

Everything in Jesse's life is a mess.


	7. Chapter 7

The next day, Jesse decides he needs a second opinion. For all his talk, Walt doesn't really  _know_  Saul. And just maybe Walt has ulterior motives in keeping Jesse and Saul apart. Saul doesn't seem to think too highly of himself, but he'll probably reassure Jesse he's not in it for the money. Honestly, if he said otherwise Jesse would fear for his sanity. Either way, Saul has a personal stake in this.

So that's out. Badger, while a good friend, doesn't really know Saul either. And Skinny Pete doesn't know about this whole situation at all.

Jesse realizes his list of friends is unbearably short and tragic.

So who else knows Saul and can give Jesse an educated opinion?

He doesn't have to search very long for Chuck McGill's whereabouts. A quick scan through the phone book—seriously, who even uses those anymore?—reveals Chuck lives approximately 400 feet away from Jesse on San Cristobal road. So Jesse takes a brisk walk through the neighborhood and pays Chuck McGill a visit.

He empties his pockets into the mailbox before knocking on the door. No answer. For a moment, Jesse wonders if Chuck's gone out, before his brain kicks in and reminds him that's a stupid question.

A voice sounds from the other side of the door. "Who is it?"

"H—hey, uh, my name's Jesse. Saul—Jimmy told me about you. I thought you might be able to help. I put my phone and stuff in the mailbox like you want, so, y'know, I'm clean."

After a moment, Chuck says, "How do you know Jimmy?"

"He's... he's a friend."

Jesse realizes he should have planned this out better. What if Chuck doesn't know about Saul's sexual preferences? Somehow, Jesse doubts this story's gonna fly on "just a friend" terms.

But Chuck's unlocking the door and saying, "Alright, come on in," so maybe this won't be a total disaster.

The door doesn't open after a few seconds, so Jesse tentatively lets himself inside. He shuts the door behind him and follows Chuck through the corridor and into the living room.

The entire house is dark, with only slivers of sunlight peering through the shutters. To be fair, it's a nice house, furnished with elegance and class.

"Would you like some coffee?" Chuck asks.

"Uh, no thanks."

Chuck takes the couch, so Jesse drops into the leather armchair by the fireplace. "Well, then, how can I help?"

Jesse wrings his hands. "You don't look anything like I pictured. I mean, I thought you were gonna be like an older version of Sa—Jimmy, but you don't look anything like him. No offense."

Chuck smiles. "None taken. I get that a lot. But, Jesse, I can sense you're stalling."

Jesse fidgets in his seat. "Yeah, maybe. I dunno, I'm just... Well, it's about Jimmy." It feels so weird calling him that; Jesse's never going to get used to it. "We've, uh, we've known each other for a while, and I recently came into some money. He knew about it, so I asked him where I should go on vacation. He suggested Vegas 'cause of you guys' history there."

Chuck says nothing, just listens with the most intense look Jesse's ever seen.

"And, I dunno, he looked kinda happy and sad when he talked about it, like maybe he missed it, so I invited him to come along with me." Jesse scratches the tattoo on his arm. "We went to Vegas, partied, had a blast, and since we got back... We've been spendin' a lot of time together, and I'm just kinda wonderin' if maybe that's because of the money. I dunno, you probably know him better than anyone, so I thought I'd ask you."

"First things first, let's cut through the pretense here. You're more than just friends, aren't you?"

Jesse straightens up, his mouth dropping open. "What?"

"If he was simply a friend, you wouldn't have come here."

Jesse huffs a shaky laugh. "Yeah, okay, you got me."

Chuck smirks as though he's scored a point. "What do you two do when you're together?"

"We just sorta chill. We'll go to dinner, or one of us'll cook or order out. Then we usually watch a movie or somethin' on TV. We talk a lot, mostly about dumb crap. Then there's... y'know." Jesse's fairly sure Chuck doesn't want to think about his brother having sex, so he just skirts by that part. "Sometimes he'll stay over. He stays over a lot, actually. Or he lets me stay at his place. It's all pretty low-key and chill, nothin' super fancy, 'cause that's not—that's not me."

Chuck's got his thinking face on.

Jesse feels like he needs to elaborate so Chuck has the entire picture. "When we were in Vegas, we'd have dinner at all these expensive restaurants, but that was 'cause I wanted to spend money. The most fun stuff we did was stuff that didn't cost a lot, like Adventuredome and the zombie store. And that was all his idea."

"How did you come into this money, Jesse?" Chuck asks, switching gears. The use of his name makes Jesse uncomfortable for reasons he can't explain.

"Um, my aunt died, and I, uh, I settled her estate." Probably not a good idea to admit the truth here.

Chuck nods slowly. "Is that how you met Jimmy? He used to specialize in elder law for a bit when he was just starting out."

"Yeah."

Chuck folds his hands in his lap, and Jesse is stricken with the feeling that shit is about to get seriously real. "Well, I think it's important to clear the air here and say that I've never been to Vegas."

Jesse reels like he's been punched in the stomach.

"Maybe he has, but it's not something we ever did together."

Jesse opens and closes his mouth like a dying fish, trying to find words. "He said you guys used to go to Vegas all the time."

"He says a lot of things that aren't true," Chuck says, something sad etching itself into the lines around his mouth.

Jesse tries to swallow, but his throat's too dry.

"One thing Jimmy's always been good at is lying. He'd lie about what he had for breakfast, it comes so easily to him. Did he tell you about Slippin' Jimmy?"

Jesse barely manages a nod.

Chuck lifts his eyebrows. "He told you he used to be a con man in Cicero?"

Another nod.

"Well, one moment of honesty certainly doesn't redeem him," Chuck says. "Not when you weigh it against all the lies he's told."

It was a mistake to come here. Jesse wishes it was yesterday morning, wants to be lying in bed with Saul, wants to ignore Walt's damn impatient knocking and continue on with Saul into their blissful little piece of forever.

When Jesse finds words, they come out weak and shaky. "So what if he did some bad stuff back in the day? People can change. I—I knew a guy who was the squarest dude you'd ever wanna meet, and I watched him turn into something twisted and evil."

Chuck shakes his head. "People don't change; they become who they are. Circumstances are the mirror through which we see our true selves. That man you knew? He always had that evil inside of him; he simply encountered circumstances that allowed him to exhibit it. Jimmy is no different. I won't go so far as to say he's evil, but I certainly wouldn't trust him."

A cold sweat breaks out on Jesse's back. Maybe Saul wasn't being hyperbolous and self-deprecating when he spoke of how bad he is. Maybe it was a warning for Jesse to stay away.

"He had nothin' but good things to say about you," Jesse says, sounding lost. Why would Saul speak so highly of someone unwilling to do the same for him?

Chuck meets his eyes, and Jesse feels the ground falling away from him, because Chuck is looking at him like everyone he's ever known, shaking their heads in disbelief at what a gullible idiot he is and at the fact that they might have ever thought otherwise.

Jesse blinks, and hot tears stream down his cheeks. He can barely breathe. He wants to defend Saul, but it's taking every bit of strength he has to simply exist.

Chuck shifts in his seat. "What do you think his intentions are, Jesse? You think he's the type to settle down, start a family?"

"He—he said he's had three wives," Jesse whimpers, the words rasping like sandpaper in his throat. But he hears how feeble they are, knows even as they leave his mouth that they're meaningless. Because one thing Saul's always been good at is lying.

"And you think you'll be the last?" Chuck asks, baleful. "That you'll be the person who finally makes him straighten up and turn over a new leaf? Kim Wexler couldn't even do that, and she's one of the finest people I know."

Jesse can't bear to see the hate on Chuck's face. He keeps his gaze down and stares at his hands, eyes running over his tattoo in a panic.

Chuck says, "If you were a woman, maybe you could birth him a child to serve as a flesh-and-blood shackle that would keep Jimmy in your life long after you should be free of him. But for Jimmy, money is the bottom line, and once yours runs out, he'll have no use for you anymore."

"Why do you hate him so much?" Jesse finally asks, fighting back tears.

"I don't hate him. He's my brother, and I love him dearly, but I know what he is. You came to me for advice. I advised."

Jesse nods numbly. He has to get out of here, has to carefully extricate himself from this situation without crying or collapsing or vomiting. "Okay," he says, not really finding a more appropriate response. He wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans and stands up on shaky legs. "Guess I should hit the road."

"I'm truly sorry things didn't work out," Chuck says, but Jesse barely hears him.

Jesse leaves the house feeling hotly eviscerated, as though Chuck's words have ripped Jesse's organs from his body. He retrieves his phone from the mailbox, stuffs it into his pocket, and begins the walk home. He considers just walking and walking until he's somewhere far away from all of this, until the rubber of his shoes peels away and disintegrates. Because what's left for him here but tragedy, a caked desert of discontent and withered dreams?

He walks home on autopilot. When he gets through the door, he checks his phone, because why the hell not? Saul's overloaded his phone with text messages in rising levels of panic and desperation:

_**Hey, haven't heard from you all day. You alright?** _

_**Jesse?** _

_**C'mon, kid, just tell me you're okay. I'm going insane. Could you just send me something?** _

Jesse's thumbs hover over the keyboard. He knows he ought to at least give Saul a fighting chance, an opportunity to plead his case. Because he thinks Saul would do the same for him. Saul revealed the devastating truth about the ricin cigarette, knowing Jesse would have every reason to push him away. That ought to mean something.

Jesse has to believe that people are capable of change. If they're not, he's totally screwed.

Jesse types back:  _ **can u drop by when u can? I need to talk to u**_

Almost immediately, Saul sends a response:  _ **Oh, thank God, you're not dead or tied up in some Walt-related emergency. Absolutely. I'll be there.**_

Jesse isn't sure how to approach this conversation with Saul. He doesn't want to start by throwing out accusations, because that's not going to help anyone. It won't do any good to put Saul on the defense from the get-go.

Saul arrives at Jesse's house about fifteen minutes later, looking guilty and anxious and happy to see Jesse all at once. Jesse lets him inside, and he's a little surprised how glad he is that Saul's here.

"So, uh," Saul begins, standing awkwardly, like he isn't sure if he's allowed on the couch anymore, "how are we gonna proceed here? Am I getting the big kiss-off?" He huffs a nervous laugh.

"Guess that depends on how you answer my questions." Jesse drops onto the couch and stares up at him. "How come you lied about Vegas?"

Something brief and panicked flickers across Saul's face. "What?"

"You made up all these stories about how you and your brother used to go to Vegas all the time. Why?"

"How did you—"

"Chuck told me."

Saul's eyes bulge. "You talked to Chuck?" There's no heat to it, just a pained bewilderment that makes Jesse want to reach out and hold him.

Jesse keeps him on track. "Why did you lie?" He tries to disguise the hurt in his voice. "I would'a asked you to come with me anyway."

Saul opens his mouth, closes it, as if that's something he never considered. "Really?"

"Yeah, of course. I didn't wanna be alone. And you seemed like you'd be good at distractin' me from all the horrible shit goin' on." Jesse pulls back in horror when he realizes how that sounds. "Not that—not that you're just a distraction or anything, just—"

A small smile forms on Saul's mouth. "I know what you mean, kid." He exhales a sad sound laced with misery. "Alright, I lied because I wanted to go. I mean, I know a lot about the place, but I've never actually been. I figured you'd want me along as a travel guide if I had actual experience."

Jesse doesn't really know how to respond to that. That's so much more pathetic than he was expecting.

"What, uh, what else did Chuck tell you?" Saul says, looking petrified of what the answer might be.

Jesse keeps his eyes on Saul, because he's heard the silent method is a pretty good intimidation technique.

"'Cause, uh, I don't think he's got a very high opinion of me," Saul says with a half-assed chuckle around the words.

Jesse wants to stop this before Saul breaks, but he also wants to see how this plays out. So he keeps his mouth shut and lets Saul talk.

"Chuck and I don't exactly have a Frasier and Niles Crane type of relationship," Saul says, sitting on the far end of the couch, like he doesn't think he has permission to sit closer to Jesse. "I know he's ashamed of me. You think it'd be reversed, with his unique condition and all, but no. I'm the family disappointment, remember?" Saul huffs out a broken-sounding laugh.

"Chuck always had to bail me out of whatever trouble I'd gotten myself into," Saul continues. "I know he resents me for it. Before he got divorced, there was a point in his marriage when he stopped inviting me to Christmas and Thanksgiving. He tried to disguise it as something else, blamed it on the wife a couple times, but I'm not an idiot, y'know?"

Jesse feels his throat tighten.

"So, no, Chuck and I have never gone anywhere on vacation together, let alone Vegas. And, hey, while we're on the subject, I've never been married three times either."

"Why are you tellin' me all this?" Jesse wonders aloud.

"Because I don't want there to be any more lies between us. I owe you that much."

Jesse isn't sure what to say. Is Saul trying to psych himself up for the biggest truth of all, that he really is out for the money? "Okay, so why'd you lie about all that stuff in the first place?"

Pain spreads in the little creases above Saul's forehead. He presses his lips together, as if debating how to explain. "Before I became Saul Goodman, I was Jimmy McGill, a struggling, small-time lawyer. I was a nobody for a long time until I started bending the rules and accepting shady clients and, well, acting like a stereotypical lawyer. I created a persona that sort of took on a life of its own. It got easier to live the lie and pretend like I was this confident, smooth-talking crook of a lawyer."

A winded breath brushes through Saul's lips. Jesse really, really wants to hold him. "But the stuff about Chuck... I just wanted to pretend I had a brother who supported me. Yeah, I pulled a lot of shit back in the day, but once I got down here I was nothing but good to him. I got my law degree all by myself while working in the mail room at his firm. I took care of him when he got sick. I stood by him a hundred percent, and all he did was fuck me over." His voice breaks, and Jesse feels his heart break too.

"What happened?"

"Chuck co-founded this law firm—HHM—and after I passed the bar, I thought it'd be great to work there, y'know, get my feet wet as a new attorney. Chuck practically owned the place with his business partner, Howard Hamlin, so a good word from him would go a long way. Hamlin tells me they're not going to hire me. So I made my own way. It wasn't anything great, but it was something, right? It's not like anyone was giving me a chance.

"About a year or so later, I'm still struggling, and Chuck's ill, but I do my best to keep myself afloat and him alive. I end up discovering this multi-million dollar class action lawsuit. Chuck volunteers to help me with the case, but this sucker's got mountains of paperwork, so he suggests we take it to HHM so it doesn't take years being pushed through the courts by just two guys on their lonesome, y'know?"

Jesse nods. He's got no idea where this is headed.

"Hamlin's totally for it, even offers to give me a $20,000 buyout"—Jesse's attention snags on the word—"if we sign the case over to his firm. I think, as the attorney who discovered the case and did most, if not all of the legwork, I ought to get an office at the firm and work alongside them. Hamlin says no. Now, this guy's been a thorn in my ass for years. For the life of me, I can't figure out why he won't put our differences aside and work with me here. He throws out some bullshit about how the partners have decided they don't want me, but I know he's just covering his own ass. He doesn't want me there. Fine." Saul gives Jesse a wounded look. "You know what happens next, don't you?"

Jesse shakes his head. He's been so enthralled in Saul's story, absorbing every word, that he's not looking ahead to see where the curves in the road are.

"It turns out it wasn't Hamlin who didn't want me. It was Chuck." Saul chokes back a noise that sounds like a sob. "He doesn't think I'm a real lawyer because I didn't go to a 'real' law school. He doesn't like that I didn't work as hard as he did—well, what the hell does he know about it? I thought he would be proud of me for putting myself through law school and trying to make something of myself."

Jesse feels the emotions hanging in the air like static. He reaches over, takes Saul's hand, and says, "I'm proud of you."

Saul looks at him in disbelief and hope.

"I feel like you've needed to hear that for a long time."

Saul nods jerkily, takes a breath. "What did he tell you?"

Jesse's trying very hard to forget about it all. "He said people can't change. He said once my money runs out, you'll leave."

"No, Jesse, I—" Saul cuts himself off, like he's afraid of finishing that sentence. Jesse can only wonder how it might have ended. "I care about  _you_. The money and sex? Hey, as far as I'm concerned, those are just perks. You could eliminate those two and I'd be perfectly happy just spending time with you. Okay, maybe we'd have to work out an agreement on the sex thing, because I'd be kinda sad to see that go, and I don't think you'd wanna go that long without getting laid. But I really like what we have here, and I want us to be good again."

"We're good," Jesse promises, squeezing Saul's hand in his own. "But you don't have to lie anymore, because you don't have to be afraid of who you are. I like  _you_ , not whoever you're pretendin' to be. And nothin' you say or do is gonna scare me off."

Saul smiles in a weirdly-affectionate way that makes Jesse's insides twist and flutter. "Even if I say I really wanna go domestic grocery shopping with you?"

"Fuck yes, we can totally do that."


	8. Chapter 8

If Jesse and Saul want any peace in this relationship, they need to get the hell out of Albuquerque.

The next two weeks of their dating life are spent mostly indoors at Saul's place, for fear of running into Walt. Jesse claimed that since they just ironed out Walt's interference, it would be wise to lay low for a while, so Saul resigned himself to nightly dates filled with take-out and Netflix, which, really, is a hell of a lot better than his dates pre-Pinkman.

Saul wakes up as he does most Saturday mornings, with Jesse's warmth curled around him. Every time, he's hit with a fleeting wave of nostalgia, memories of waking up like this in Vegas with Jesse, and Saul's homesick for something he can't explain.

Jesse rouses slowly, his fingers stirring to life along the curve of Saul's spine. Saul breathes him in, thrilled by the way Jesse's scent has enveloped his bedroom, coalescing with the smells of his own aftershave and cologne to form something that's uniquely them. Saul can't even remember the last time he'd gotten close enough with someone to wake with the smell of them ingrained in his sheets.

"Are you smelling me again?" Jesse mumbles into Saul's throat.

"Wha—No."

"Dude, I told you—it's just Axe."

"Don't be a smart-ass."

"I don't know how to be anything else," Jesse says, stretching his legs. "Next time we go shopping, how 'bout I just buy you some of my body spray and you can stop smellin' me?"

"I'm just not used to this. The pillows, the blankets, they all smell like you. So it's like you're here, even when you're not."

Jesse does a smirky thing with his lips that makes Saul's stomach flip-flop. "What's your obsession with smells all of a sudden? You get bit by a werewolf?"

"'Nothing revives the past so completely as a smell that was once associated with it.'"

Jesse gives him a blank stare.

"Nabokov."

"Wasn't that the dude who wrote  _Lolita_?"

Saul clicks his tongue. "Hey, the kid got one."

"You're quoting a dude who was probably a pedophile? Judging you."

Saul rolls his eyes. "I think you missed the point."

"Which is?"

"The smell of you brings back a lot of memories."

"All good, I hope."

"Of course." Jesse cuddles closer and buries his nose in Saul's chest. "And it's been a while since I've had a relationship like this."

"What about your ex-dude?"

"He didn't like to stay," Saul says, oddly bitter.

Jesse huffs a laugh. "Hit it and quit it, huh?"

"More or less."

"That sucks." After a moment, Jesse asks, "Did you love him?"

Saul sort of shrugs. "I don't—I don't know. I don't think so."

Jesse looks like he wants to say more, but he keeps quiet. The morning sun sneaks through the gaps in the bedroom curtains. A ray of sunlight crawls up the bed, illuminating Jesse's form. Jesse rolls onto his back and rubs the back of his head. "You wanna go somewhere today?"

Saul tries to keep the excitement in his voice to a reasonable level. "What'd you have in mind?"

Jesse shrugs. "I 'unno. Somethin' fun, like Putt-Putt or laser tag or bowling."

"People only go bowling when they've done everything else fun in the world."

"But what other sport lets you eat nachos while you play?"

Saul laughs, but Jesse hears the bitterness and regret under his breath. Jesse tilts his head. "What's up? You got a better idea?"

"Oh, no, no, I wasn't—That wasn't about you. Just, uh, a little walk down memory lane."

Jesse makes his skeptical face.

This is probably something Saul should talk about with Jesse. It's not like the kid hasn't earned his trust, and talking about things is what couples do, right?

"My, uh, 'ex-dude,' as you put it, his nickname was Nacho."

Jesse blinks, quiet, then he snorts a laugh that sort of startles himself, because he covers his mouth with his hand to stifle the sputtering giggles that follow. "For real?"

In retrospect, Saul should have expected this reaction.

Jesse's laughing like it's the funniest thing he's ever heard. "What the fuck? Seriously? I can't decide who's lamer: you for dating a dude named Nacho, or him for having such a whack-ass name!"

Saul frowns. Jesse's taking way too much amusement in this. "You have a friend named Badger."

"Yeah, but I didn't date him!" Jesse says through laughter, like he's scored a point.

Saul wants to argue that he and Nacho didn't do a lot of  _dating_ , but like hell he's giving Jesse more ammunition here. "I vaguely remember you using the nickname Diesel at some point."

"You're seriously comparing Diesel to Nacho?"

"One could argue that Diesel is trying to compensate for something by giving himself such an aggressively masculine nickname."

"Well, one would be wrong."

Yeah, Saul's pretty well-acquainted with Jesse's dick. He's not compensating for shit.

Jesse's laughter fades into manageable chuckles. "Please tell me you dumped him. It would be a whole new level of pathetic if you got dumped by a dude named Nacho. I think a new word would have to be invented to, like, explain how fuckin' sad that is."

Saul purses his lips and glances off. "It was sort of a mutual separation."

Jesse hiccups a snort. "Jesus... You are such a dork."

Saul spreads his hands. "I never really claimed to be anything else. C'mon, kid, you've seen my commercials."

"Yeah, they're pretty bad," Jesse says, moving closer. "Camera adds ten pounds, y'know." He covers Saul's mouth with his own before Saul can argue, which, hey, no complaints here. Saul gets his hands on Jesse's skin, squeezing and stroking and fucking desperate to touch every inch of him. Jesse slings a leg over Saul's hips and catches his bottom lip between his teeth.

It's at this moment while they're caught up in each other that Saul's phone vibrates against the night table. The electronic buzzes and chimes break through the hazy fog of moans between them.

"I think that's you," Jesse says without missing a beat. His hand skims down the length of Saul's chest, his fingers dragging through the hair past his navel.

Saul makes a distressed noise of sexual frustration and reaches for his phone. He groans an entirely different noise of frustration when he reads the name on the screen. "It's Walt."

Jesse freezes, as though Walt might somehow know exactly what they're doing. "You gonna answer it?"

"I feel like I have to. He might be outside." Saul sits up and takes the call, forcing some cheer into his voice. "Walt, hey, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I need you to listen to me very carefully."

Saul shuts his eyes and sighs.

"You're going to meet me in an hour. Bring Jesse. I'll send you a text message with the coordinates."

"Coordinates?" Saul huffs. "What is this? And, hey, why do you think Pinkman even wants anything to do with me after your little pep talk?"

Jesse's eyes widen at the sound of his name. Saul slides his free hand over Jesse's own.

"It's not important," Walt says. "Just bring him. Make it happen."

Well, it looks like today's shot. "Alright, well, hey, it's a shot in the dark, sure, but can I get some assurance this isn't some sort of set-up?"

Walt sighs as though it should be obvious he doesn't have nefarious plans for the two of them. "It isn't."

"Some assurance." Saul doesn't think they're really in danger. Despite how much he knows about the whole operation, all of it falls under attorney-client confidentiality. Saul could never talk about his dalliances with Walt or Jesse.

Jesse, on the other hand...

Would Walt kill Jesse? If that's the case, it seems a bit cruel to make Saul watch, but this wouldn't be the first time Saul's witnessed the death of someone he loves. But this would be one time too many, the one Saul wouldn't come back from.

Walt's voice snaps Saul back to the moment. "Saul? I need your word that you and Jesse will be there."

There's a strain of panic there that worries Saul a bit. "Yeah, sure, fine. I'll, uh, I'll pull some strings."

Walt doesn't bother with a goodbye, just hangs up like Saul's an overbearing telemarketer.

Saul's still running all this information through his head as he sets the phone on the table. "So, what'd he want?" Jesse asks.

"He wants us to meet him in an hour."

"Meet him where?"

"Hell if I know. He said he's sending coordinates." Saul rolls his eyes around the word.

Jesse makes a face. "Did he say why?"

"Not a word. But I figure something must have spooked him and he wants to make sure we'll keep our mouths shut. Apparently he doesn't account for the fact that maybe you never want to speak to me again since his little 'I only want you for your money' speech."

"He thinks we're still together?"

Saul nods.

"Or maybe he  _knows_."

Saul tries to think of how that's possible. They've only ever spent the night at Saul's house since the incident, suspecting Walt might take a little pleasure cruise past Jesse's house and see Saul's Cadillac parked outside. "Not sure how, but, hey, Walt works in mysterious ways, right?"

Saul's phone dings, indicating an incoming text message.

"That's probably him," Saul says, sliding out of bed. "Let's just get this over with."

* * *

They're in the desert, sitting on the hood of Saul's Cadillac and waiting for Walt's crusty ass to show up to whatever the fuck this is, something so important it supercedes Jesse's plans for the day. Jesse's not a huge fan of deserts, especially now that he's got some desert-related traumatizing experiences under his belt. By the way Saul's fidgeting with his Rolex, he's not exactly chill either.

Jesse watches a spider crawl across the sand. He wonders what kind of life the spider leads, if it goes home to a spider wife or spider kids after a long day at the spider office. Maybe there's a douchey spider in its life, its own personal Walter White.

"I bet spiders don't have to put up with bullshit like this," Jesse says aloud, to no one in particular.

Saul makes a noise of disgust. "Please tell me you'll step on that thing if it gets near me."

"Why should a spider have to die just 'cause you're a pussy?"

"I'm not a pussy," Saul says, as though it's a grievous insult. "I have a phobia."

Jesse rolls his eyes.

"Look, I don't ask for much. Just kill or dispose of all disgusting creatures in my personal space, and don't cheat on me."

Jesse's not even going to touch that one, and even though he finds it odd that Saul put killing bugs first on that list, he keeps his mouth shut.

"You're the designated bug-killer in this relationship," Saul says.

Jesse lifts an eyebrow. "Did we vote on that or somethin'? I don't remember that."

"Well, it's sort of a given. I mean, I've got my phobia, and you, well, you don't, so it sort of decided itself."

"Or maybe you could just not be a pussy."

Saul scoffs. "Let's not get too crazy."

Jesse opens his mouth to say something when he hears a car pull up. Walt has arrived, crashing the party like always. Jesse shifts his weight from one leg to the other and prepares himself for whatever Walt's going to throw at them.

"Hank knows," Walt says, to the surprise of absolutely no one.

"So?" Jesse challenges, shrugging his shoulders. "If he knew anything substantial, you'd be locked up."

Walt sighs as though the sound of Jesse's voice physically pains him. "It's only a matter of time, Jesse, and then what? Wait until he comes after you?"

"I don't think Schrader's gonna be talking to Jesse for quite a long time," Saul says, "given their history."

Walt ignores him, focuses his attention on Jesse. "Maybe it's time for a change."

"What kind of change?"

"I don't know. Maybe... Maybe it's time for you to just... leave all this behind."

Jesse feels an icy nerve jangle at the base of his spine.

"Just get out of town," Walt continues, like he doesn't even notice the panic on Jesse's face. "Don't look back. Saul knows a man who specializes in giving people new identities. He would move you someplace far away and set you up with a whole new life."

Jesse's almost certain the ground gives way underneath his feet, like a sheet of ice over a frozen pond, because he feels the plunge into the frigid water. "What?"

"Whoa, whoa, slow this train down a bit, huh, Walt?" Saul says. "Do you really think Jesse's in danger? Because I think if Schrader had even a sliver of evidence, he would have used it by now, and one—or both of—you would be locked up, like Jesse said."

"Hank is never going to let up," Walt argues. He turns back to Jesse and drives the point home. "This is an opportunity for you to start your life over, Jesse. What's here for you now anyway?"

Jesse's gaze immediately flicks to Saul, almost answering Walt's question. Only then do the pieces snap into place, and Jesse gets it now, rage coursing through his veins. "You need me gone," Jesse says, staring through Walt. "You're acting like leaving town is all about me turning over a new leaf or whatever, but it's really about you. You don't give a shit about me."

"That's not true, Jesse."

"You just want me away from Saul and out of your life."

Something in Jesse's throat catches at the way Walt doesn't immediately respond to that, as though he's formulating an answer in his head.

"It's either this or you'll kill me the same way you killed Mike." The air between them seems to thicken and swirl as they stare each other down. "Isn't that what this is all about? Huh? Us meeting way the hell out here? In case I say no?" Jesse chokes on the words, because he knows there is no way this will end happily for him. He will lose Saul, or lose his life.

Walt just shakes his head and takes a step toward him. "Jesse..."

Jesse backs off instinctually, tears spilling down his cheeks. "This is bullshit, you can't just—No!"

"Yeah, this is a bit of an overreaction, Walt. Do you really need the kid to leave town at this juncture?"

Jesse's too busy scrubbing the wetness out of his eyes, but Walt doesn't say anything, and neither does Saul, so Jesse figures some sort of threatening glare was given that rendered Saul silent. When Jesse regains his eyesight, Walt's staring at him with a combination of scorn and amusement, his eyes burning twin holes through Jesse's skull. "Do the right thing, Jesse. For Saul's sake, as well as your own."

Jesse considers the gun holstered in the back of his jeans. Nothing's stopping him from pulling it out and putting a bullet right between Walt's eyes. No one would find him here, not for a while, at least. Maybe the nightmare would be over, but another would take its place. Not worth it. But Jesse's comforted by the knowledge that he has the option, that he's not truly powerless here.

Saul looks like he's about to cry, which is the most heartbreaking thing Jesse's ever seen, right up there with those commercials about abused and abandoned animals.

"How did you even know?" Jesse asks. "About me and Saul?"

"My sister-in-law is a bit of a gossip," Walt explains. "It just so happened she saw you and Saul shopping together, and I overheard her relaying this information to my wife."

"How would she know Saul was with me?"

"She wouldn't recognize you, Jesse. She doesn't know you. But I asked her if Saul was with someone fitting your description, and she confirmed it."

Saul scoffs. "So you knew for weeks and just sat on this until you could use it."

Walt frowns, like he doesn't appreciate Saul pointing out his manipulative tactics.

The three of them stand there among the sand, waiting for the tide to turn. Jesse doubts Saul's in any danger, even if he refuses to submit. Saul's too high-profile, and he's at no risk of turning traitor on either of them. Besides, Jesse's the one Walt wants out of his life, and it's not like anyone would come looking for him.

Christ, what a sad thought.

Well, maybe Saul would want justice for Jesse, but, really, what could he do? Betray confidences and put his own safety at risk for someone like Jesse? Not happening.

Just because Walt wants Jesse to leave town doesn't mean he can't come back at some point. Or that Saul can't join him eventually.

So Jesse nods and says, "Alright, Mr. White, you win."

* * *

Saul doesn't say much on the drive to Jesse's house or even once he and Jesse get inside. He thinks about asking Jesse for a quickie, for old time's sake, but he wants so much more than that, wants to pour his love into Jesse to warm him wherever he goes. Nothing he can say or do seems like enough, and Saul realizes there are parts of his heart still able to be broken.

Jesse sniffles, trying stoic as though he hasn't been crying since they got in the car.

"Do you want me to help you pack?" Saul asks.

"I can do it," Jesse sort of mumbles, taking the stairs in a slow shuffle.

Saul sits on the couch and waits for him, inhales the familiar scent of weed and cigarette smoke and  _Jesse_  that makes his heart ache. He actually thought Jesse would be the one, that he could start a family with him. But of course Saul Goodman/Jimmy McGill/whatever he's calling himself now wouldn't get a happily-ever-after. That sort of thing was never in the cards for him. And, after Kim, he'd accepted that, however begrudgingly.

He never let himself get too close to Ignacio, never fooled himself into thinking that would work. He almost managed that kind of restraint with Jesse, but the kid was just too open and too eager to let Saul fill his empty spaces. A stronger man would have resisted, but Saul just wanted something real. He shouldn't have wanted, shouldn't have given in.

Now look where it's gotten him.

He waits for thirty silent, awful minutes before going upstairs to check on Jesse. When he reaches Jesse's bedroom, he finds Jesse curled over the bed, anguished sobs choking out of his throat and racking his body. Saul sits at his side and pulls Jesse into his arms. "I know, I know," Saul murmurs at his ear, and Jesse goes willingly, cries into his chest and stains his shirt with tears.

"I hate him," Jesse says, the words struggling through his sharp, heaving breaths. "He can't get away with this."

Saul rubs Jesse's back in slow circles, breathes him in, trying like hell to burn Jesse into each of his senses. "He won't," Saul assures him, but even as he speaks the words, he knows the truth. "You could visit, y'know. Drop by after the dust has settled."

"You should come with me."

"Kid, I'd love to, but I can't. Walt's doing this mostly to keep you away from me. If we both disappear at the same time, it'll look too suspicious, especially if Schrader's keeping tabs on us. But, hey, that doesn't mean I'm opposed to picking this up later. Just drop me a line if you're still interested in a few months."

Jesse makes a scoffing noise, muffled by the way his face is buried in Saul's chest. "I'll always be interested."

"Yeah, that's what they all say," Saul chuckles, pained. "C'mon, wherever you're going, you're gonna meet somebody that'll make you forget all about me." At least he won't have to see Jesse fall out of love with him. In his memories, Jesse will love Saul forever. The fact that he takes a bit of solace in that makes him feel like an asshole.

Jesse shakes his head. "No, no way. There's not gonna be anybody else. I love you."

It's the first time Jesse's ever said it out loud, and the words pierce through Saul's heart like a bayonet. Saul wills his voice not to break when he says, "I love you too."

That only makes Jesse cry harder, sniffling and sobbing into Saul's shirt. Saul holds him as long as it takes for Jesse's cries to subside, secretly cherishing each moment he spends with him. You never know when it will be the last time you hug your mother or laugh with your brother or kiss your lover, but there's always a last time.

When Jesse's reserve of tears runs dry, Saul helps him finish packing. The sun's beginning its slow crawl toward sunset by the time they head downstairs. "You sure there's nobody you wanna say bye to?" Saul asks. "Nobody at all?"

Jesse shakes his head and looks at Saul with red-rimmed eyes. "Just you."

Saul doesn't trust himself to speak, just sighs in what he hopes sounds like understanding. He steps outside, feeling like an intruder, and makes the call.


	9. Chapter 9

_Six months later..._

It's already dark out when Saul leaves the office. He sent Francesca home hours ago; no reason for her to stick around past closing time anyway. He pulls the expensive bottle of whisky out of his desk and takes it with him out the door. He'd been fine today until a smart-ass, lanky twenty-something in clothing two sizes too big walked in with a DUI, and Jesse Pinkman emerged from behind the glass wall of Saul's memory. The image of Jesse sitting in that same chair just months ago knocked Saul askew, and he needed a good five minutes after the kid left to wipe his blurry eyes and wrestle his breathing back under control.

With Jesse out of the picture, Hank Schrader's investigation must have fizzled out, because Walt hasn't been charged with anything. Saul's exciting life has flatlined into something grey and dull, as though all the color's been siphoned out through a vacuum. Not that he misses the on-your-toes anxiety of being Walt's partner-in-crime, but, y'know, everybody needs a hobby.

Every time Saul gets home and flips on that lightswitch in the foyer, he half-expects Jesse to be there, relaxing on the couch with a pizza and a beer, as though he's been waiting all night for Saul to get home. He'd say something dorky like, "Yo, what took you so long?" Then Saul would join him on the couch and they'd watch a movie and eventually crawl into bed together, and it would be sweet and romantic and Saul wouldn't feel so goddamn lonely.

Maybe he should just get a dog.

When he's settled in bed, he pours himself his nightly glass of alcohol, courtesy of the whisky he appropriated from his office desk. Seems as good an occasion as any to drink it now. Saul hates that he's become a walking cliché—the heartbroken lover who drowns his sorrows in booze—but the thing with clichés is they're usually dead-on.

He wonders what Jesse's doing now, if he's found someone to fill his empty spaces and make him whole again. He hopes so, at least for Jesse's own benefit; Jesse deserves to be happy, to have the family he's always wanted.

Saul grabs his phone off the night table. He switches on the screen and taps the photos icon. Tucked away in an album at the bottom of the list, obscured beneath the others, is a collection of photos titled "Jesse." He clicks the album open and lets the memories wash over him anew. Every picture he's ever taken of Jesse is in here, from their first clumsy moments in Vegas to the days when Saul knew the tug at his heart when he looked at Jesse was true, honest love.

Saul lifts the glass to his lips and takes too big a swallow. Unbidden tears well in his eyes as he sorts through each photo. He doesn't do this every night, just when he's vulnerable enough to let the pain in. Every swipe across the screen feels like the strike of a match, igniting him in the burn of everything he's lost.

His phone chimes in his hand, startling him a bit. A text message appears in a bubble on the screen. It's past midnight. Who would be texting him now? Saul's not a stranger to wrong numbers and spam texts. Most of the time, he can recognize the area code. If it's from Albuquerque or Cicero, fine. If not, he's pretty quick with the delete button.

Saul's not familiar with the area code. His thumb hovers over the delete button, but something in the text body makes him pause. He feels a deep, heavy thud in his chest as the world falls away. Saul stares at the screen in disbelief:  _ **yo, early anniversary. u know where I'll be. this saturday. see u there #whathappensinvegas**_

Saul feels his throat constrict. It has to be a hoax, a cruel joke. But who would know about that hashtag? It's not exactly uncommon, but who would have known it was a running gag between Saul and Jesse? Maybe Jesse told Badger, but how would Badger know Saul's private number? And why would he choose to be cryptic about it? Wouldn't it make more sense to spell it all out?

What if it really is Jesse?

Saul wills his hands to stop shaking long enough to type a reply:  _ **Kid? Are you okay? Just answer me that.**_

Almost immediately after he hits send, Saul receives a "message undeliverable" error. Well, shit. He tries another avenue and dials the number. He holds his breath through the rings, running through an opening gambit in his head.

Saul doesn't have to think for very long, because hope sinks in his stomach like a dead weight when he hears the cheery voice of the operator: "We're sorry, the number you have dialed is out of service..."

Had he really expected it to be that easy?

Saul fetches his laptop from the desk and powers it on. A reverse-lookup search yields nothing, but he googles the area code and tracks it down to the San Diego area.

So Jesse's in San Diego now—if this isn't one giant hoax on Saul's heart.

Tears spill over his cheeks. He doesn't wipe them away. He stares unblinking at his phone, as if the text might disappear if he closes his eyes. Jesse. His sweet, wonderful Jesse is alive somewhere out there and wants to reconnect with him. This Saturday, Saul could see Jesse for the first time in six months.

Everything tethering him to reality drops away, as though a string has been cut.

First things first, is this a cruel joke?

Saul doesn't know anyone in San Diego who would also know these corny details he and Jesse kept to themselves. Badger knew about Vegas, but he didn't know about their hashtag or have access to Saul's private number. And, what, does Saul think Badger went to San Diego and got a disposable phone to send him a text message? Why? Would Badger know where Jesse intends to meet with Saul?

Not likely.

The only person who might be cruel enough to do this is Walt, and he doesn't know any of the details.

Jesus fucking Christ, this could be real.

Saul blinks away the tears and tries to concentrate. If it is Jesse, why would he be so cryptic? Why would he reach out to Saul without giving Saul a way to communicate back?

Maybe, Saul thinks, Jesse's trying to protect him. He doesn't have any real way of knowing if the Heisenberg investigation is still hot. Sure, he could read news articles on the internet, but those would only tell him if new evidence appeared or arrests had been made. If Schrader is still keeping tabs on Saul, discretion would be in order if Jesse wanted to contact him and not draw unwanted attention.

So maybe Jesse buys a burner phone to send one text message, then deactivates the thing for safety precautions. Jesse's no dummy; he knows all about this shit. One strange, seemingly random text message wouldn't raise suspicion. People get those all the time, mostly wrong numbers.

But those are one-off messages. A string of communications with the same strange, out-of-state number would probably raise red flags. But if Jesse didn't give Saul a way to communicate—e.g., allowing him to text back—his message would remain a seemingly wrong number.

Omitting the exact location of their meet-up is even more precaution. If Schrader reads the text and goes to Vegas, he wouldn't know which hotel to start with. Even the wording is sort of genius: anniversary. That's what Jesse called it. Using the #whathappensinvegas hashtag implies a romantic or sexual meet-up, nothing remotely related to criminal activity.

Jesse's absolutely smart enough to pull this off.

Saul's never fooled himself into thinking Jesse would miraculously come back into his life. From the moment Jesse walked out of his office that day, Saul knew, deep down in his heart, that he would never see the love of his life again. Jesse would still care for him, of course, but Saul always knew Jesse would build a life someplace else. Maybe he'd meet a girl—or a guy—and he'd fall in love, and Saul would become a footnote in Jesse's life, a detour on the way to happily-ever-after.

But it seems as though Jesse hasn't done any of those things. He wants this just as much as Saul does.

It takes Saul a while to fall asleep, but at least this time it's due to excitement rather than despair.

* * *

Saturday morning, Saul sits behind the wheel of his white Cadillac, paralyzed with indecision concerning Jesse's cryptic text message. He's had about a week to mull this over, and his brain has created a destructive cocktail of possibilities. What if Saul's misinterpreted the whole thing? Jesse might have moved on with his life, and this meet-up is a final farewell to everything they used to be, Jesse's way of saying, "Hey, I'm okay, I made it. Now it's your turn."

Saul doesn't think Jesse would intentionally hurt him like that, but Jesse probably figures Saul's moved on too. It would be just like Jesse to overestimate Saul's capacity for emotional compartmentalization.

Saul stares at the message again, as though it might disappear if he takes his eyes off of it. This could all be one colossal joke, a devastating blow to the remaining pieces of Jimmy McGill, but he'll go because it's where he belongs. He switches off the screen, sets his phone on the passenger seat, and throws the car into drive.

Interstate 40 carries him out of the city. The flow of classic rock from the car stereo and the blur of dirty eggshell-colored desert rolling by fill him with a deep longing, a nostalgia that leaves him unsettled and discontent. He's assaulted with memories of Jesse sitting low and sprawled in the passenger seat, images so overwhelmingly perfect they steal the breath from Saul's lungs.

He has to wonder if he's a bit masochistic, because a scratching feeling in the back of his mind tells him this trip won't end in the happy reunion he's hoping for. But what the hell else is he supposed to do? Even if Jesse's made a life with someone else, Saul can't pass up an opportunity to see him and hear his voice again. Of all the loves Saul's lost, only Jesse perseveres as though hermetically sealed in his consciousness; Nacho Varga and Kim Wexler and all the others have diminished over time, wistful memories of what was and could have been.

The pain of losing Jesse is still as fresh as it was on day one. So why wouldn't Saul latch onto the chance to see him again?

* * *

Arriving in Vegas summons a trove of buried memories, and Saul finds that he recalls his last visit here with pristine, perfectly preserved detail. He remembers the way the car smelled when they entered the city, the scent of Jesse's cologne mixed with the blast of the A/C and the fading aroma of fast food. He remembers the excited curl of Jesse's mouth as he gazed in awe at the flamboyant architecture and beckoning signs.

The MGM Grand Hotel looks the same as it did the last time he was here, which hardly comes as a surprise, considering it hasn't even been a year. He parks the car in the lot and takes a deep breath, staring at the neon green tower as though anticipating some sort of indication whether he should proceed, maybe a sign reading, "Abandon hope all ye who enter here." There's nothing quite like the panic you feel when you realize you've built your hopes on terrain with all the structural integrity of papier-mâché. It's a feeling Saul's intimately familiar with, the fear that his aspirations and life goals are merely one slight breeze away from crumbling into dust.

Sitting in his car outside of the MGM Grand Hotel, Saul realizes he's got a fifty-fifty chance of leaving this town with his heart entirely broken, and he's not sure he likes those odds. Jesse could be inside bearing news of a girlfriend or boyfriend, someone who isn't Saul who fills the empty spaces in his bed. Or he could have spent the last six months yearning the same way Saul has. Saul's aware of how dickish it is to hope that the man he loves has spent half a year just as miserable and lonely as he is himself, but all he wants is a happily-ever-after. Saul's too goddamn old to keep getting his heart broken.

He decides to stop being a chickenshit and get out of the car.

Inside the hotel, the lobby's still the same shiny, ornate red and gold as it was last time. When the receptionist gives him a key card, Saul knows there's no turning back. His feet carry him to the suite's elevator bank, and he presses the button. The fire-red and ethereal blue surrounding him seem like an outward manifestation of his emotions, excitement and passion and feeling as though he's drowning.

The ride up to the twenty-ninth floor vacillates between taking forever and no time at all. By the time the doors slide open, anxiety and anticipation have knotted up in Saul's gut. He finds the room as though it's been hours, not months, since he's last been here. It feels wrong to let himself inside with the key card, so he knocks on the door instead, each second ticking by like the countdown to detonation.

The door opens, and Jesse's standing there, smiling as though Saul's presence is a complete surprise. His hair's grown back, playful spikes jutting out in every direction. He's still got the perpetual stubble, the same youthful gleam in his eyes. He's dressed in baggy jeans and a plaid button-up. He looks damn good, Saul thinks.

"You actually came," Jesse says, sounding surprised and thrilled all at once.

"Why wouldn't I?" Saul hears the desperation in his own voice, but it's too late to pull the words back now.

Jesse doesn't seem to hear it, or if he does he doesn't care. "It's good to see you again."

Saul's throat constricts in panic. What if Jesse has no love left for him, and this is just a friendly reunion? "Yeah, you too."

Jesse stares at him for a silent moment, and Saul can feel every day of the months they've been apart. "Are you gonna come in or just stand there like a dork?" Jesse asks, smirking the way he always does when he teases Saul.

Saul lets himself in and pretends to glance around as though the room has drastically changed since the last time he was here. The door shuts behind him with a click. Saul stuffs his hands into his pockets and tries to find an avenue of small-talk that might remind Jesse that he'd once loved Saul. "So, you live in San Diego now, huh?"

"Yeah, it's pretty dope. I got a sweet deal on a house 'cause it was kinda run-down and shitty. So I've been fixin' it up, y'know, sorta remodeling the place." Jesse digs his phone out of his back pocket and pulls up some pictures. The house itself is a quaint, two-story that looks a bit like Jesse's previous home. Jesse flicks through photographs of the interior, showcasing the minimalist design of the rooms. "There's still some stuff I wanna fix, but it's good for now, I guess."

"You, uh, did all this yourself?"

"Yeah," Jesse says with a shrug, like he doesn't understand why that might be weird. "Somethin' to do, y'know?"

"Still livin' off your, uh, investment?"

"No, I work with a construction company. Hard labor and all that shit."

"Yeah? You never struck me as the type."

Another shrug, then Jesse asks, "What about you? Anything exciting happen in the last six months?"

"Same ol', same ol'," Saul says, realizing after it's left his mouth that it makes him sound like a boring fuck. He should have been honest, should have said something like, "Kid, you have been and always will be the most exciting thing to ever happen to me." But they're still awkwardly fumbling through this conversation, and Saul doesn't want to peel back that layer of self-effacing humor if it's only going to get him burned.

Jesse chuckles. "Wow. Non-stop excitement, huh?"

"My life was a lot more exciting when you were a part of it." Great, now he sounds bitter and pathetic.

Jesse smiles shyly and glances away, as though he might burn up under Saul's gaze. "Yeah, mine too."

Hope springs forth in Saul's chest. This is the part where he's supposed to ask Jesse if he wants to be a part of his life again, but Saul can't seem to find the words, even though they're right there in his head.

Jesse lifts his eyebrows and asks, "So, what're you doin' here? I mean, why did you come?"

"I always come for you."

Jesse huffs a laugh and shakes his head. "For real, why are you here?"

"Because you invited me." Wrong answer. He can almost see the handle on this conversation floating tantalizingly out of reach.

Jesse opens his mouth, closes it, rubs the back of his neck the way he does when he's nervous. He looks like he might cry.

"And because I'm still in love with you," Saul blurts out, uncaring how stupid and hopeless he sounds. "I thought—I hoped maybe you still felt the same way."

Jesse flashes him a pained, tender look. "Of course. I wouldn't've—Well, I dunno what I would've done if I found somebody else. But I don't think I would've asked you to come without tellin' you exactly what the score was, y'know?"

"You were kinda vague about it anyway."

"I called it an 'anniversary,'" Jesse says, like he thinks Saul's an idiot.

"I thought you were just being cheeky," Saul says, because that's genuinely the best he's got.

Jesse closes the distance between them and pulls Saul into a tight hug that's so all-encompassing Saul nearly buckles at the weight of it. All he can do is wrap his arms around Jesse's waist and hold on for dear life.

They stay like that for a minute, as though reconnecting to each other's frequency, then Jesse murmurs, "You haven't been very happy, have you?"

"Kid, this is the happiest I've been in a long time."

Jesse's fingers curl over Saul's back, and Saul's stricken with the urge to kiss him. He nudges at Jesse's shoulders until they're facing each other, then he takes Jesse's mouth underneath his own. Jesse responds immediately, his wild gasp smothered under the kiss, and grabs fistfuls of Saul's shirt. The bristle of stubble against his chin and mouth springs forth a flash of memories in Saul's brain. Jesse tastes exactly as Saul remembers, and it feels as though it's been only days since they last kissed, instead of years.

They fumble up the stairs, kissing and clinging to each other, littering the staircase with discarded shirts and shoes as they find the nearest bedroom. Saul presses kisses over the freckles on Jesse's shoulders, hands working his jeans open. Jesse steps out of his jeans and drops onto the bed, pulling Saul along with him. His legs wrap around Saul's hips, and Saul sort of struggles with his belt for a moment before Jesse finishes the task for him, his hands sliding under his clothes and pushing them down his hips.

Saul's embarrassingly hard already, because after six months of celibacy, his entire body's like an exposed nerve. Jesse doesn't care, just tugs his own boxers down, and now he's unabashedly naked, his body still lean and lithe and perfect. Saul feels fat and old by comparison, but Jesse's still kissing him greedily, his hands groping wherever they can.

Saul mouths over Jesse's throat, the tattoo across his chest, the cherry peaks of his nipples. Jesse moans and digs his hands in Saul's hair, and Saul can feel the smooth slide of skin against his sides as Jesse draws his knees back. He glides a hand along the curve of Jesse's thigh, catching underneath his knee, and Jesse makes a noise in his throat that Saul absolutely wants to hear again.

"Fuck me," Jesse begs, hooking his free leg around Saul's hip, effectively spreading his thighs for whatever Saul wants to do. "Please, it's been ages."

Saul's dick hardens impossibly further, and he has to bite his lip to rein himself in. "Which means any demonstration of endurance is out of the question. It'll be over as soon as it starts."

"I don't care," Jesse whimpers, his hips bucking and seeking friction. "I just wanna feel you inside me."

Saul bites down on how fucking hot that is and covers Jesse's pleading mouth. "You will, kid. Just save it for round two." He reaches down and wraps his free hand around Jesse's dick, which makes Jesse grunt and thrust into his fist. Saul wets his fingers with the pre-cum dripping from the head, and teases two digits at Jesse's entrance. Jesse gasps and bites at Saul's mouth, his nails scraping over the back of Saul's neck. He's shaking and almost sobbing as Saul strokes over him, and Jesse comes helplessly, his teeth digging into Saul's chin as he crests.

Saul rubs him through the last convulsions of his orgasm, using the jizz splattered on Jesse's belly to push his fingers deeper. Jesse's sighing and swearing through his shaky breaths, and Saul briefly considers jerking himself off until he comes right there between Jesse's open thighs. His hand's sliding away from Jesse's thigh when Jesse catches his wrist and pulls him close. "C'mon, I got you," he murmurs, his hand warm and tight around Saul's dick, and Saul can't help but groan, because Jesse's always known how to touch him.

Jesse works him until Saul's shooting over his fist, trembling and gasping his way down. Jesse kisses the side of Saul's face as he sinks on top of him, still tugging at Saul's softening cock. They settle there together, their sweat and juices mingling between their bodies. Jesse's breath is warm against Saul's neck, his hands following the curve of Saul's spine.

"So that was awesome," Jesse says after a moment of what Saul thinks is meaningful silence.

"Was it? I've been out of practice for a while."

"Yeah, me too. Still dope, though."

Saul breathes in the smell of Jesse and the crisp, clean sheets, and he feels an overwhelming surge of memories that transport him back to their first night in Vegas. "I distinctly remember you saying it's always good with me."

"Well, that too."

Saul rolls off of him so he can see Jesse. Jesse's face is slightly flushed, a few sweaty spikes of hair matted to his forehead. He looks absolutely perfect. Jesse's eyes search Saul's face for a moment, then he says, "So, uh, when do you leave?"

Saul snorts a laugh. "Way to make me feel welcome, kid."

Jesse chuckles and glances away, his cheeks flushing red. "I should'a asked how long you're in town, I guess, but I'm kinda worried about sayin' goodbye again."

Saul's been preoccupied with that too. "Well, how long are you staying?"

"'Til Sunday."

"There's your answer."

Jesse smiles, but Saul can see the worry behind his eyes. "I wish you could come back with me."

"Yeah, me too. But, y'know, at some point in the future, who knows? I mean, what's Albuquerque got that San Diego doesn't?"

"Deserts," Jesse says with a raised eyebrow.

"I think I've had enough deserts for one lifetime."

Jesse tosses an arm over Saul's waist, his fingers playing in the dip of his spine. "You heard anything about Mr. White?" he asks, tentative, as though mentioning Walt in this fragile space might damage their relationship irreparably.

Saul shakes his head. "The coast is clear."

"So I didn't need to send you that cryptic-ass text," Jesse says with a laugh.

"It's good that you did." Saul taps the side of his head. "You're always thinkin'."

Jesse smiles and glances away, like he's embarrassed under the praise. "Mr. White never thought I was that smart."

"'Cause he's a douchebag," Saul says simply, earning another laugh from Jesse. "C'mon, there's a reason you invited me and not him. You know where your bread is buttered."

Jesse scrunches up his face. "Was that s'posed to sound dirty?"

"Not really."

"Besides, I thought I told you why I invited you."

"Maybe, but I wouldn't mind hearing it again."

"'Cause I love you," Jesse murmurs. "And I thought maybe we could, I dunno, be good again. Like you said, what's the point of staying in Albuquerque anymore?"

Saul nods as though considering it. He wouldn't have come if he didn't want the same things Jesse does.

Jesse looks at him, a little more insistent and unsure than before. "You should come back to San Diego with me. Just for, like, a week or somethin'. See if you like it, y'know?"

Saul's certain he'll love it as long as Jesse's there too. "Maybe an extended vacation will do me some good," he says, like he's thinking it over.

"Yeah, y'know, there's criminals everywhere," Jesse says pointedly.

"You might wanna work on your sales pitch," Saul teases, grabbing Jesse's hip and pulling him closer.

"I knew it would work on you."

Saul gives a nod of consideration. "Know your audience."

Jesse's smile fades, and he gives Saul that unsure look again. "So you, uh, you think you might wanna come back with me?"

Saul's never been the guy to take huge leaps of faith. Most of his life has been a series of sure things, taking the road of low risk to avoid the path fraught with peril, even if there's a greater reward at the end. Every so often, he took a chance on something grand and frightening, with mixed success.

But when Jesse's involved, Saul's been rewarded magnificently for his risks. If he hadn't taken a leap of faith and gone with Jesse on their first trip to Vegas, they never would have fallen in love. And if Saul hadn't come here today, he wouldn't have been reunited with Jesse.

So maybe his odds are pretty damn good when he's betting on Jesse.

Saul smiles and says, "Yeah, why the hell not? But only for a week. Y'know, a trial run."

Jesse makes a face. "Was that a law pun?"

Saul runs his words back through his head and laughs. "That was entirely accidental."

"I can't believe I missed your stupid jokes," Jesse says with a sigh.

"Oh no, you're in deep, kid."

* * *

_Just because everything is different doesn't mean anything has changed._

~ Irene Peter


End file.
